A Lifetime In Eight Days
by blackangus
Summary: A breakup and a disappearance bring heartache and change for Pete and Edie. Characters: Peter Gunn, Edie Hart, Lt. Jacoby, Original Cast
1. Chapter 1

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

 **A Lifetime In Eight Days**

It had been exactly three months since she'd broken up with him.

Twenty-one days since the lone date she'd gone on while attempting to persuade herself that she was over him. That she'd moved on. That she could live her life without him. That she could find someone else to love. Someone else to love _her_.

Eight days since Lieutenant Jacoby had appeared, seeking her out at Mother's, asking if she'd seen him or heard from him. Jacoby was nobody's fool. He knew she hadn't but he asked anyway.

Four hours since she got the phone call.

* * *

 **Three months ago...**

It had been building for a while, this distance between them. He had a case that had taken him out of the country for almost a week. He told her about it, let her know he was going and how long he'd be gone. Wined her, dined her, wakened her for a passion-filled goodbye the next morning. One day back and it was a repeat of the same. The second case might not have sent him away from her, at least not distance-wise, but there was still the matter of not hearing from him more than once over a period of three days. When he finally _did_ make an appearance the cast on his left wrist and the purpling bruise beneath his right eye didn't instill much comfort. And for once, neither did the soft smile and slow wink he gave her as she performed her final song of the evening.

But then life was good again for a while. Until it wasn't. The worry, the uncertainty, the wariness, the desperation came back to haunt. And she didn't know what to do. The only thing she _did_ know was that their relationship couldn't continue as it was. And it was tearing her up inside.

She was leaning against the railing, staring down toward the river with an unfocused gaze, when he finally appeared toward closing time that night. She relished his warm strength against her back as he braced his arms against the barrier and leaned forward, nuzzling a soft kiss into _that_ place between her neck and shoulder.

"Hi, Silly." His voice was a rough purr in her ear.

"Hi, Pete," she responded, her voice soft, sultry, lazy. Like good whiskey.

Her gaze finally focused on the softly flowing water below. She didn't turn around, but lay one hand on his larger one, lacing her fingers between his. They shared a companionable silence as he leaned his chin against her shoulder, breathing in the sweet, heavy scent of her perfume, recognizing it as the one he'd given her for her birthday a few weeks earlier. He savored the intimacy of the moment, closing his eyes and moving his free hand to her waist and pulling her impossibly closer.

"They warned me about you, you know."

His eyes opened slightly and he looked sideways at her, a bemused expression on his face.

"They?"

"Yeah. You know." A gentle sigh escaped her lips. "People."

His eyes closed again, lulled by the soft caress of her hand on his.

"People?"

"People."

This time it was his turn to sigh. He could tell this was going to be one of those crazy conversations of hers. Those conversations were one of the things he loved about her. One of the reasons he'd fallen for her. And man had he fallen, so very hard. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile as he tried to decipher where she was going this time.

"What people?" He could be just as guileless as she when the occasion warranted.

"Just people. People you know." A slight but thoughtful frown marred her forehead for just a moment before disappearing. "People you don't know."

He straightened a bit and trailed a line of soft kisses along the back of her neck before shifting his chin to her other shoulder. Following her example, he settled his gaze on the dark shallows below. Dull points of light glittered on the crests of a few aberrant waves that sloshed against the pilings, reflections generated by the streetlight in front of the building next to Mother's.

"And just what did these people who I know and don't know warn you about?" He tried to make his voice sound serious, but there was a distinct tease in it. She took a while to answer. So long, in fact, that he had been about to say something further when she finally spoke.

"They said you were trouble."

He raised his head and dropped his eyes to the soft, rounded perfection of her cheek.

"Oh they did, did they?" He tucked a blond curl behind her ear as he pondered this. "And what other deep dark secrets did they let you in on?"

She turned her head to rest her cheek against his.

"They said you'd break my heart."

Her words were soft and her eyes had taken on a faraway look.

Straightening, he dropped his hands to her hips and gently turned her to face him. He wasn't sure where this mood had suddenly come from but he was going to put the kibosh on it. He bumped her forehead with his before placing a quick kiss on her nose.

"Don't be a silly girl."

He knew how people could be, how they could talk. It was part of his business to know. And a few years ago those people might even have been right about him. Back before he met Edie. He'd been rougher around the edges, quick tempered, impatient, confrontational. All qualities that tended to get him into trouble with both sides of the law, especially before he was able to be more selective about the cases he accepted. There had been a few women in his life, but no one he would have desired as a life-long companion. No one like Edie. And he certainly didn't think he'd broken any hearts along the way.

"You're it for me, you know that. Breaking your heart would mean breaking mine." Roughly. Tenderly. Unevenly.

His arm slipped back around her waist as she returned to her original position against the railing. They were both silent, she occupied with her own thoughts, he wondering what was on her mind. For all the simplicity and contentment she'd brought into his life, Edie Hart was still a very complicated woman to figure out sometimes. Especially at that moment. Removing his arm from its comfortable position around her waist, he leaned his elbow on the railing and turned sideways to look at her, attempting to catch her eyes. When she avoided his gaze he reached out his hand and gently cupped her cheek, turning her face toward him. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as they met his and he felt an uncomfortable ache grip his insides.

"Edie, what's-"

"Pete, I can't..." Her left hand fluttered between them, a sob catching in her throat. "I can't... _do_ this anymore. This... _thing_...between us." She backed away half a step as he reached for her hand, the tears finally beginning to fall as she saw the expression of bewilderment that crossed his face as his hand fell back to his side. "I- we barely ever see each other anymore. You jump right from one case into the next and-" Wrapping her arms around her middle, she took another half step away from him, another sob escaping. "I miss you. I miss you so much and I don't-"

"Edie...Honey-" He tried to sooth her, at the same time wondering whether his voice sounded as panicked to her as it did to him. "That's how the business is sometimes. I'm sorry its been that way lately. You know that." He closed the gap between them, lifting his hands to her face and using his thumbs to brush away her tears. "Just give it some time, things'll calm down and I'll be around so much you won't know what to do with me. I'll be underfoot every way you turn and you'll be wishing for a case to come along just to get me out of your hair."

"Every time I watch you leave I wonder if it'll be the _last_ time I watch you leave, if it'll be the last time I ever see you- And then when I do finally see you...you're all beat up or shot up-"

"Hey, it's not that bad." He attempted a grin, his hands reaching for hers, gripping them tightly.

"But it is, Pete." Her head tilted to the side as she studied his face. After a few moments of this silent contemplation she leaned forward and captured his lips with hers in a kiss that said so many other things that she couldn't put into words. Finally she pulled away from the kiss and from him. "I love you very much." She took a shuddering breath. "And I need you very much. But we can't go on like this." She searched his eyes, willing him to understand. "I'm sorry," reached his ears in a strangled whisper as she pulled open the door and disappeared into Mother's.

He stood where he was for a long while, not moving. Wondering what had just happened. Lifting his right hand, he looked at the key she'd slipped into it as she turned to leave. The key to his apartment...and to his heart...glistening in the lamplight just as her tears had done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

Lieutenant Jacoby slumped back in his chair and ran his hands tiredly over his face, leaving his palms pressed against his eyes for about half a minute before dropping them to his lap. He stared at the ceiling, wondering where things had all gone so wrong. How had a seemingly uncomplicated meeting between Peter Gunn and a couple of somewhat shady but innocuous street hoods ended up with two men dead and his friend nowhere to be found? He slammed his fists down on his desk in frustration, the sound so loud it startled the detectives and uniforms in the outer office.

There had to be something he was missing. Pete had been doing him a favor, plain and simple, by talking to the two low-class hoods who were rumored to have the skinny on several recent heists. Pete knew who the guys were and Jacoby figured they'd be more forthcoming with the PI than with a cop. Word on the street was their information was available for cheap, mainly a few bucks and an unwritten promise that Jacoby and his men would lay off them for a few recent minor infractions. They were small potatoes compared to the gang he was after, making Jacoby more than a little willing to turn a blind eye.

Pete had conferred with one or two of his wayward flock, slipping a five here and a ten there, and had managed to set up a meeting in a relatively circumspect area of the rundown warehouse district along the waterfront for ten-thirty the prior evening. Easy as pie. Maybe too easy. Jacoby had sent along an unmarked car just in case trouble broke out. After all, Peter Gunn and trouble seemed to go hand in hand, no matter the circumstances. Sergeant Davis and a plainclothes detective had been in the car near the meeting place at the appointed time. The meet had gone down as planned and his men had left the scene upon seeing Pete head for his car at approximately ten til eleven. That was the last anyone had seen of Pete. When he failed to make an appearance in Jacoby's office shortly following the meeting, as planned, and when he didn't answer calls to his car phone or his home phone, Jacoby had personally rounded up Sergeant Davis and headed back to the warehouse district. Pete's car was still parked in the same spot. But there was no Pete. And that's where things continued to stand over twenty-four hours later.

And now it was fast approaching the point where he had to do something he really didn't want to do.

* * *

"Hello, Mother."

The woman in question glanced up from a pad of paper she was scribbling on, her shrewd gaze taking in the plainclothes policeman standing at the bar, hat in hand. She gave him a dour look and returned to her writing.

"If you're looking for Pete he isn't here." Mother's response to Jacoby's greeting was brusque and unsmiling.

The policeman set his hat on a stool and placed his clasped hands on the bar as he leaned against it. This might be even harder than he thought it would be.

"Actually I _am_ looking for Pete and I'm aware he's not here. I wish it were that simple."

His voice was soft. It was the one he reserved for imparting bad news to the families of crime victims. Mother didn't know that of course. She figured he was just trying to keep the peace. Wasn't that what always happened when little families were torn apart and the friends and acquaintances held in common were affected? They didn't want to take sides, didn't even know if there were sides to take. Some drifted away, some tried to help pick up the pieces, some tried to pretend nothing had happened, and others just tried to keep the peace. Mother tabbed Jacoby as one of the latter. And to be perfectly honest she didn't have the time or patience for any of them.

Jacoby tried again.

"When was the last time Pete was in here?"

Something in his voice must have pricked Mother's attention. She put down her pencil and mirrored his stance at the bar. She gave what appeared to Jacoby to be a furtive glance toward the stage area. He turned his head just enough to note that he'd gained a little attention from that part of the club, where Edie sat at the piano with Emmett apparently going over some music with the other members of the combo. They were all looking at him and Mother. Great. Just great. He looked again at Mother as he waited for her reply.

"Couple mornings ago," she finally said. "Late." Ergo, after Edie had gone home. Which meant probably somewhere between two-thirty and three.

"Anything in particular on his mind?"

"Just the usual." Mother shrugged. The new usual. She didn't say that though. "Checked his messages. Had a Coke with Barney. Asked about Edie, if she was okay, if there was anything she needed." She looked like she wanted to say more but she didn't.

"His messages. You remember how many, who they were from, anything like that?" Jacoby pulled a small notebook and a pen from his shirt pocket.

"I know one was from Babby. The others-" She shook her head and motioned Barney over from where the bartender was watching and listening with overt interest as he pretended to dry a glass. "You remember, Barney?"

"Yeah, Babby left a message that he had some information and that he'd hang around the pool hall until Pete got there. And there were a couple callbacks, just letting Pete know that whatever it was he wanted was set up. One was from a guy called Felony." Mother rolled her eyes at that. "And one was from that little guy with the thick glasses, I can't remember his name offhand but I remember that's who it was. And there was a message from a man who wanted to talk about something having to do with insurance, I guess maybe an insurance case, I'm not sure." Barney shrugged. "Pete crumpled that one up and threw it away."

Jacoby nodded and stared at his notes. Nothing really new there, other than the insurance man, and that seemed pretty innocuous. He wondered aloud if the trash from the day before might still be in the alley and if it was possible to find that message. Barney shook his head no, the trash and been picked up the prior afternoon.

Mother leaned further in toward Jacoby, watching as he slowly put his notebook and pen back in his pocket.

"What's with all the questions, Lieutenant?" She frowned. "Has something happened to Pete?"

Jacoby sighed.

"I wish I knew the answer to that." And he proceeded to tell her what had happened, leaving out a few disquieting details she really didn't need to know.

* * *

Sitting on the piano bench next to Emmett, Edie Hart's attention wavered between the scales the piano player was experimenting with and the conversation between Lieutenant Jacoby and Mother. A conversation that appeared to be quickly escalating into an argument. Mother's hands slapped the counter as she exchanged some heated words with the policeman, spurring Edie to abandon her perch on the stage and head quickly to the front of the club to intervene. The soft music from the stage came to a halt as she rounded the bar and gently grasped Mother's arm, a glare from her blue eyes directed at Jacoby.

"What's going on?" Edie had a sinking feeling that she really didn't want to know the answer to that question but she asked it anyway, her gaze never wavering from Jacoby's.

"He lost Pete, that's what's going on!" Mother's voice was almost venomous in its intensity. She pulled her arm out of Edie's grasp and rounded the bar to come face to face with Jacoby. "How can you lose a full grown man?" she demanded.

Her flabbergasted question echoed around the club as Edie continued to hold Jacoby's gaze, that sinking feeling of hers beginning to take on sickening overtones.


	3. Chapter 3

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

An uneasy silence stretched between the man and woman occupying the front seat of Lieutenant Jacoby's squad car. He'd explained the situation to Edie, told her everything there was to tell about the circumstances surrounding Pete's disappearance. _Almost_ everything. As was the case during his conversation with Mother, he'd omitted a few specific details, though where Edie was concerned he wasn't certain how long he'd be able to hold out before she started asking questions. She was very good with the questions. This he knew from listening to the sometimes exasperating conversations she and Pete shared. But Jacoby had some questions of his own, and even though he pretty much knew what her responses would be he still needed to ask them. Had Edie talked to Pete lately? No. Had she seen him at all in the past several days? That one earned him an inscrutable look and a shake of the head. Now he sat drumming his fingers silently on the steering wheel while she stared out the front window of the car. A steady rain had moved in as they talked, blurring the windshield and giving the inside of the car a ghostly appearance as it sat beneath the neon of Mother's tall sign. The rivulets of water trickling down the windshield were reflected on Edie's face, making it difficult for Jacoby to differentiate between them and the streaks of tears he knew were also there.

"Look, Edie-" Jacoby's gentle voice finally broke the silence. He hunched his shoulders and folded his arms over the top of the steering wheel, moving his gaze to the same bleak street scene that Edie was staring at. "I know Pete's not-" He paused, treading lightly, trying to choose his words carefully. "I realize you and Pete aren't together right now and it's not your responsibility to have to worry about-"

Her watery hiccup of a sob interrupted him.

"My responsibility? Of course it's my responsibility. He's Pete and I'll always worry about him. I've been doing nothing else since-" Her voice trailed off. With the palms of her hands she wiped at the silent tears running down her cheeks. Then wrapping her arms around herself she turned her head to stare out the side window toward the front door of the club. More silence.

"You know," Jacoby tried again after a short while, "whatever it was Pete did, I know if it were possible he'd turn back the clock and try to do it all over again some other way. There's no way in the world he would ever do anything to purposely hurt you." He knew he was probably butting in where he wasn't wanted, and that what happened personally between Peter Gunn and Edie Hart had nothing to do with the big picture of Pete's current whereabouts. But frankly he really had no idea what to say to this woman at this precise moment.

"Pete didn't do anything."

The policeman turned his head to look at her but she kept her face averted. The corner of the window fogged up as Edie sighed and leaned her forehead against the cool glass. After a few minutes she dropped her head to the seatback and stared out the windshield again.

"What aren't you telling me?"

There it was. Jacoby knew it would only be a matter of time and she certainly didn't disappoint. Her question was one he wished he could sidestep and he desperately wanted to do just that. It would probably be easy enough. But there'd be stuff in the morning paper that would allow her do draw her own conclusions about things he himself didn't even want to think about. He didn't want that. She deserved better, however much it might hurt. Jacoby sighed, briefly considering the best way to answer her question, finally deciding to just be up front and honest. The best policy, right? Sometimes he wondered.

"Those two hoods I asked Pete to talk to..." Jacoby's eyes tightened as he stared through the rainy darkness, a dull ache in his gut. He finally shifted his gaze to the woman next to him. Edie was looking back at him with an unfathomable expression in her blue eyes. "Harbor Patrol pulled their bodies out of the East River earlier this evening. Both shot in the head, probably been dead for as long as Pete's been missing."

Holding his eyes Edie slowly shook her head, swallowing thickly before finding her voice.

"Pete..."

Jacoby shook his head brusquely.

"Don't even think it. We're going to find Pete. I promise." His voice was gruff.

He sighed and dropped back in his seat, rubbing his hand tiredly over his face, knowing he was beyond stupid for making such a promise but needing to take that look off her face. The fact that her expression didn't change told him he had been unsuccessful at allaying her fears.

"This whole thing smells of a set-up..." He turned wearily in his seat to face Edie. "Look, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything. You know I'll do anything for Pete."

* * *

Jacoby unlocked the apartment door and ushered Edie in ahead of him. It felt weird. It should have been the other way around. He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably as he shoved his keyring into his coat pocket and followed her down the step and into the living room. In two previous visits to Pete's apartment since his friend's disappearance he hadn't noticed anything out of place nor had he seen any signs that an intruder might have been there. But as he'd confided to Edie, he hadn't exactly been going by police protocol the first time through. He'd been a bit more conscientious in his examination of the premises the second time around but by that time he wasn't really sure what he might be looking for, if anything. He shook his head morosely. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been less professional.

His gaze followed Edie as she lay her purse and coat on the back of the sofa. He'd gone back into the club to get her things for her, giving her a few minutes alone in the car and saving her from having to run the gauntlet of an already aggravated Mother as well as an incensed cadre of musicians. Not to mention Barney, who'd followed him suspiciously back to Edie's dressing room. The atmosphere had been cold to say the least. He'd paused on his way out and turned back to face them all, opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Mother had broken the awkward silence in her usual forceful way. "Just find Pete."

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be looking for."

Edie's uncertain voice brought Jacoby back to the present. He blinked his eyes into focus and gave her a contemplative stare.

"That makes two of us."

At the troubled look in Edie's eyes he released a long sigh and rubbed at the back of his neck with one calloused hand. Then he removed his hat and dropped it on a side table.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be facetious. I just–" He gestured, arms outstretched and palms up, indicating the living space around them."I just thought you might be able to see some things that I can't. If something's missing...or out of place. Little things like that. You're much more familiar with Pete's apartment than I am."

"I haven't been here in a while." Her words were soft. She ran gentle fingers over the ivory of the chess set sitting ready for play on the coffee table in front of the fireplace.

"Nothing's changed." Jacoby's heavy-lidded gaze followed her as she moved around the room. "Believe me."

Edie fixed him with a pensive stare, sensitive to the undercurrent in his words. Finally breaking eye contact, she slowly moved to the other side of the room where the phonograph stood open, several record jackets lying next to it. From the corner of her eye she saw Jacoby grab the telephone and begin dialing.

"I need to call the Precinct to find out if there's anything new." He gave her a brief glance and a nod as he sat down on the nearest chair. "Take your time."

She half-listened as he spoke to Sergeant Davis for a few minutes. Most of Jacoby's part of the conversation consisted of monosyllabic answers and grunts. He eventually hung up and got to his feet, buttoning his coat and tying the belt loosely. As he grabbed his hat he indicated that he needed to get back to his office. Edie nodded absently.

"I can't find the records." She turned to him, two record jackets in her hand. "They're not on the player and these are empty."

Jacoby shrugged, uncertain of the relevance as far as something being missing or out of place. Who'd enter someone's apartment only to leave with a couple LPs minus their jackets?

"Maybe he put them back in the wrong sleeves."

"Pete?" Edie raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

This time Jacoby frowned.

"Is there another player anywhere?"

When she shook her head no he reached for the record jackets and looked at them curiously, flipping them over and back again. He stuck them under his arm and reached in his pocket for his keys. His brown eyes held a thoughtful expression as they met her gaze.

"I'm not sure these mean anything but I'll take them with me anyway. You ready to go? I can drop you at home on my way."

She shook her head hesitantly, her eyes sliding away from his and darting around the apartment.

"I'd like to stay for a while if it's okay with you."

Jacoby nodded, his expression softening. He silently slipped the key to Pete's apartment off his key ring and laid it on the side table next to the telephone.

"You don't need my permission." He made a move toward the small foyer. "I have an unmarked car watching the building. I'll let the officer know you'll be staying. Pete's keys weren't in his car..." He watched as she settled on the sofa. "Make sure you keep the door locked and the chain on." He quietly studied her for a few moments, his eyes moving over her delicate profile and the soft blond hair curling over her shoulders. "I'll call if we find out anything." He stepped to the door, preparing to leave.

"It just seemed like he was never there anymore."

Edie's velvety-smooth voice brought Jacoby to a sudden stop, his hand lingering on the doorknob as he turned to look at her.

"He was always somewhere else, working on a case." She turned her face toward Jacoby. "I think he was spending more time with his little band of misfits than he was with me. And I guess I was jealous of that...like I am about anything else in his life that doesn't include me." She swallowed and wiped at the sudden wetness on her cheeks. "He tried to tell me things would get better but I wouldn't listen. And I wanted to kill myself when I told him I couldn't do it anymore and I saw the confused look on his face and I knew I should have just been patient and talked to him about it but I couldn't stop and-" Edie knew she was rambling and the tears were coming down harder. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She felt the sofa give under Jacoby's weight as he sat down next to her and she felt the warm strength of his hand covering hers. He laced his fingers with hers, feeling a kindred pain as she leaned her shoulder lightly against his. They sat that way for a while, neither saying anything.

"You know," Jacoby finally interrupted the silence, "despite all his strengths Pete has one very great flaw." He tipped his head and looked into her eyes as she opened them at his quiet words. "He has a habit of caring too much sometimes. And I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but more often than not it gets him into trouble because he thinks he can just go out there and save the world of every poor soul that comes to him with their problem. And sometimes even he gets overwhelmed."

He sighed and glanced toward the sliding doors leading out onto the small balcony. The rain continued to fall, having turned from a steady shower into a cold thunderstorm at the leading edge of an incoming front, the heavy drops pelting the table and chairs sitting outside. He returned his gaze to the woman next to him.

"And that's not his fault, it's just who he is. And once upon a time there really wasn't anyone who noticed enough or who cared enough when that happened."

His grip on her hand tightened.

"Then one day he met you, and you threw him for a real loop. And you still do and you always will. And you know what? Maybe breaking up with him wasn't such a bad thing. Because sometimes he needs a swift kick to that stubborn head of his to set him back on track. All of us men do at one time or another. Just ask my wife, she'll be more than happy to expound on how many times we called it quits before we got married, and after for that matter. It takes a person who really cares to deliver a kick like that. And please believe me when I tell you that Pete understands that." He tried a smile that didn't get very far but he could tell she appreciated the effort. "He's at his happiest and at his best when he's with you. If that wasn't already obvious, the past couple of months have been a tell."

Jacoby gave her hand another squeeze, picked up the record jackets he'd placed on the cushion beside him and got back to his feet, his walk to the door much more brisk this time. He looked over his shoulder at her as he opened the door.

"Remember what I said about the locks," he reminded. "Call me if you need anything. If I'm not at the Precinct somebody'll be able to find me." The door clicked shut behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

Peter Gunn groaned and attempted to roll over. Something was keeping him from doing so, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was. He coughed, partly because of the dirt he was inhaling, partly because he couldn't seem to draw a deep enough breath to fill his lungs. His chest and ribs ached every time he inhaled and his head hurt worse than it had that time when he was ten years old and he'd taken a headfirst flyer over the handlebars of his bike and buried his face in the pavement. He coughed again, a deeper cough this time, and a razor-sharp pain shot through his skull, bringing with it a feeling of intense nausea. When the pain eventually subsided he tried again to roll over onto his back, finally realizing he couldn't because his hands were cuffed behind him.

"Oh great." The words came out on another groan and Pete tasted the unmistakable coppery bitterness of blood in his mouth. Carefully opening his eyes a crack, and cautiously lifting his head, he tried to figure out where he was. There was nothing but darkness save for a dull glow creeping through a slit of a window high up on a wall. That bare trace of light, filtering through several dirty panes of glass, was still more than his eyes could handle before the nausea took over again. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back to the ground, feeling small bits of sharp gravel dig into his cheek and chin. A warehouse maybe, but a small one, nothing like those along the waterfront district where he'd met up with Jacoby's stoolies. Or maybe a basement or cellar. The floor was unfinished, which could mean anything or nothing. There was a cold dampness clinging to the air and he could hear a drip, drip, drip somewhere nearby.

He tried to think. He had no idea how he'd ended up here. He remembered walking to his car, digging in his pants pocket for his keys, picking out the one he needed with the aid of the streetlight. The echo of footsteps as he inserted the key in the lock. Being grabbed from behind on both sides as he pulled the car door open. A punch in the gut before he could react, a flurry of punches as he tried to fight back. A low blow that sent him to his knees. A savage hit to the face that had his head connecting solidly with the curb. Then nothing. He wondered how long he'd been out. It was daylight outside so what, seven, eight hours? If he knew Jacoby, by now every cop in the city would be looking for him.

Shivering a little, Pete realized he was no longer wearing his suit jacket. Wiggling around a bit he determined he was also missing his shoes. He thought his wristwatch might also be gone. No doubt his pockets had been emptied. He listened to his stomach growl, the sound of his hunger strangely loud but somehow comforting. He'd picked up a chicken sandwich and a quarter of a blueberry pie at the diner up the street from his apartment the previous evening, taking the food home with him for a solitary early supper. His insides really shouldn't be rumbling that much. Maybe it was later in the day than he thought.

Pete grimaced and fidgeted, then stilled. A chuffing sound of footfalls from somewhere overhead broke the silence. He tried to concentrate through the pounding in his head. Two people, three? There'd been three last night, so maybe they'd come back. There was the click of a spring lock being released followed by the thud of a door opening, a glare of artificial light streaming through the oblong opening behind a trio of men as they navigated down a short flight of wooden steps. Pete closed his eyes and willed himself to relax as he waited to find out what they had in mind. A sharp kick in the region of his right kidney quickly gave him an idea of the purpose behind their visit. He couldn't help but flinch and draw a hissing breath as the pain radiated through his lower back and abdomen.

"Well as I live and breathe, if it isn't the late great Peter Gunn himself."

The sardonic voice from above drew his attention away from his pain and he opened his eyes to three pairs of shoes on a level with his face, all black and newly shined. Two pairs of wing-tip Oxfords and one pair of Florsheims. Not the usual fare for muggers. Pete tried to peer upward to get a look at their faces but couldn't manage the odd angle.

"Look, fellas," his voice was gritty even to his own ears and it took some real concentration on his part just to get the words out, "you obviously got what you wanted so why don't you play nice and drop me off somewhere, preferably alive and in once piece, and we'll just call it a day."

"Not even close, lover boy."

The speaker of the group motioned with his head to his two companions, one of whom pulled on a string hanging from a dirty, bare bulb attached to the ceiling directly above, flooding the room with stale yellow light. The other pushed his foot into Pete's shoulder to turn him halfway onto his side, bringing forth a grunt of pain but allowing him to see the face of the man speaking to him.

"You probably never expected to see me again." The man sent a gloating smile down upon him. Pete squinted upward against the light and tried to make sense of the double image looking back at him. As the two images coalesced into one shape he saw a man of about his own age and size, with a broad, almost kindly-looking face topped by a bushy cap of dark brown hair. A jagged scar had all but replaced his left eyebrow. Even in the unlikely event he didn't recognize the face, Pete would always remember that scar.

"You're supposed to be in prison," he managed.

"Yeah, well I was. But I got sprung a couple weeks ago. Real legal-like. Guess you didn't get the word, huh Gunn? Early release for good behavior." The man laughed sharply and loudly as though at an especially good joke. "Can you believe that? Good behavior!" His jocularity evaporated as suddenly as it had appeared. He squatted down on his haunches directly in front of Pete, his voice harsh as he continued to speak. "It's a miracle I even got out of that hellhole alive. And everything that happened to me in that place? It was all because of you, because _you_ sent me there." He reached out with his right hand and gave Pete's cheek an almost brotherly pat, in direct contrast to the animosity of his words. "You owe me big time and I plan to make sure you pay up. For every beating I took, for every minute I spent in solitary, for every day of freedom that was taken away from me."

"I didn't send you to prison. A jury put you there."

" _You_ put me there. Because you couldn't keep your stupid PI nose out of my business!" the man hissed. "And now we're gonna make things even." He reached behind him, beneath his suit jacket, and pulled out a short, dark snub-nosed revolver. He pushed the barrel of the gun against Pete's jaw none too gently. "You're gonna feel my hurt. And after that I'm gonna put this gun in your ear and blow your brains out."

Pete could feel the perspiration gathering on his upper lip and felt his pulse quicken sharply at the man's words. He'd found himself in a lot of predicaments over the years from which he'd somehow managed to extricate himself, either through subtlety or just plain brute force, but he had a stomach-turning feeling he just might not be able to get himself out of this one.

"By now the word's on the street and every cop in town will be on your tail. Kill me and you won't have to worry about your freedom. They'll send you straight to the electric chair."

"It's been over thirty-six hours and nobody's come knocking at the door yet but the Avon lady," the man returned sarcastically, then correctly interpreted the confusion in Pete's eyes. "Yeah, you can thank Charlie here for that," he gestured with his gun toward the big man who still had his foot pressed against Pete's shoulder. "He got a little carried away and bent your head against the cement. He's been real worried you were never gonna wake up. I told him if he took all my fun away from me, he'd be the one looking down the wrong end of the barrel." Pulling himself back to a standing position, he nodded at Charlie, who gave Pete's shoulder a swift dig with the heel of his shoe before removing his foot. Pete ended up back on his stomach with his face buried in the dirt.

* * *

"Why the _hell_ weren't we informed about Denner's release?" Jacoby barked into the phone. "You people have a duty to let us know when these things happen! I have a good mind to contact the Governor's office directly and file a complaint against the state prison system."

Jacoby spoke in stronger language than he was normally known for and his calm demeanor had been replaced by irritation and anger and something else less easily defined. Fear. Genuine fear. For the first time since his friend had gone missing a feeling of true helplessness had taken him over. While before the enemy had remained unknown and disguised, his true identity had now been brought to light. And it wasn't a good feeling to learn who that enemy was. He continued to listen to the nervous voice at the other end of the line. A nervous prison warden was not a good thing by any stretch of the imagination.

"I don't want to hear about lost paperwork or not enough staff or who you do or do not report to! Every single individual involved with that case should have been informed before the soles of that man's shoes ever hit the pavement. I want every piece of information about his release, the names of everyone he has to report to, the address he was returning to-"

Jacoby rolled his eyes as he was interrupted yet again. He listened to some more long-winded explanations then jumped up from his chair in aggravation.

"What do you mean unconditional? You mean to tell me this man was given an unconditional release from prison four years early-" He cocked his head to one side and rubbed his hand over his forehead as the words continued to pour into his ear. "On who's authority?...Oh really, the Parole Board and who else?" His voice had taken on a sarcastic overtone. "I want that information on my desk _yesterday_! You do what you have to do to make it happen."

Jacoby slammed the phone down then just stood there and took a minute to try and clear his head. How could things get any worse? There was no way they could. Absolutely no way. He took a deep breath and released it slowly before making his way into the squad room. Every detective he had was on duty and it seemed every street cop and patrol cop in the precinct had come in on short notice. Maybe not all for the same reason, but those diverse reasons merged to form the glue that held every good police department together. Some of them were there because they'd been around during the Pauly Denner case and they knew first hand what it had _really_ been all about. Others had only heard about it in the back rooms and basements of the 13th Precinct or other precincts where they'd worked. They were there because they understood the price that had been paid by a lot of good people to put Denner behind bars, even if he hadn't been made to pay for the worst crime he'd committed. Then there were those who were there because of Pete. Probably more than Jacoby realized or would ever know. His group of cops liked Peter Gunn. The man could be a pest sometimes and he always managed to take some liberties that weren't entirely within his venue, but he was well-liked by the men and women under Jacoby's command.

He stood in the doorway for a few moments watching the bustle going on around him, then stepped toward the center of the squad room to get everyone's attention. He explained in a few short words the urgency of locating one Paul 'Pauly' Edward Denner, age 34, six feet one inch tall, two hundred pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, one visible distinguishing mark a scar above the left eye. Copies of a mugshot were handed around. The Lieutenant allowed his serious gaze to touch on each person in the room.

"Each of you knows your assignment. Do it to the very best of your ability without doing anything that might exacerbate the situation. You've all been made aware of how the dissemination of information will be working in this case. Everything will be coming through this office, whether the information comes from somewhere within this precinct or from one of the surrounding precincts. And above all..." he held up one hand to make sure he still had everyone's full attention,"...don't any one of you try to be a hero and go after this guy if you get a lead on him. You hear anything, you see anything, anybody comes forward with information, you report it directly to me and then continue to go about your business. Denner lying dead on a street corner because one of you gets trigger happy doesn't bring us any closer to finding Pete."


	5. Chapter 5

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

Entering the small kitchen of Pete's apartment, Lieutenant Jacoby placed a carton of food on the light blue Formica tabletop and began to lay out the items he'd purchased. He had spoken with Edie about an hour earlier, making arrangements to come over and talk, and he had stopped by the diner a few blocks up the street on the way. Having first phoned her apartment and gotten no answer, and recalling her frame of mind when he left her at Pete's place in the very wee hours of the morning, he figured she was still there. When the officer currently watching the building confirmed she hadn't left, Jacoby gave her a call, told her he'd be over and that he would pick up some supper for the two of them. She hadn't argued with him about supper, which he took as a good sign, but she'd promptly excused herself and headed upstairs after letting him in the door. He figured she was doing some woman thing so he found some plates and silverware to set the table with then leaned against the counter to wait. When she eventually walked into the kitchen about ten minutes later he had his arms folded across his chest and his gaze glued to his shoes. It wasn't until he heard her say his name that he even realized she was standing there.

"Oh, sorry," he murmured, mentally shaking himself before straightening and motioning politely toward the table. "I wasn't sure what you might like so I just picked up a couple of their specials."

Edie nodded then pulled the coffee pot out from beneath the counter and began adding grounds and water. Once that was done to her satisfaction she pulled open the refrigerator door and asked Jacoby what he'd like to drink. He spied a couple bottles of Pabst Blue Ribbon on the bottom shelf.

"I'd like a beer." Then he eyed the top shelf. "Unfortunately I'm on duty so I'll just have some milk if that's all right." _Maybe it'll help settle my stomach_ , he thought. He watched as Edie poured them each a glass. Then he watched as she stood and fidgeted, apparently loath to join him at the table. He eyed her critically. She looked tired. He guessed she'd taken a shower before his arrival as her face was free of makeup and the very tips of her hair were still damply curling. She was an extremely pretty woman, he certainly had to give Pete credit there. She was wearing a blue and white checked shirt, he wouldn't call it a blouse, and a very worn pair of casual white slacks. Either she'd had someone bring her some of her things or the clothes had been stashed at Pete's. He had a feeling it was probably the latter. Jacoby released a soft sigh and nodded toward the table.

"Sit."

Edie glanced at the table and the food on it before clasping her nervous hands in front of her and giving Jacoby a steeled look.

"Why don't you just say what you came to say and get it over and done with." Her response was more of a statement than a question.

The policeman shook his head, a gentle yet determined expression on his face and in his eyes.

"I'm afraid it's not going to work that way. I have a feeling you haven't eaten since yesterday, so that's the first order of business. After that I'm going to tell you some things and then you're going to go to bed and get some sleep." He held his hand up, palm outward, when Edie opened her mouth to say something further. "No arguments. They won't get you anywhere at all." He pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit then took the seat opposite her.

"I'm not really hungry."

"That's too bad, you're eating anyway. And like I said, no arguments. I have kids. I've heard every argument in the book. They don't work for them and they won't work for you."

"Fine." Her reply reminded Jacoby of a truculent child but she did take a bite of her roast beef sandwich. Within a few moments they were both tucking into green beans and mashed potatoes as well. They ate silently until the meal was almost finished. Jacoby was the one to interrupt the quiet.

"When I stopped by Stanley's the blonde girl behind the counter...Millie?" He received a nod from Edie. "After I gave her my order she looked at me and looked at me, then finally asked me wasn't I Mr. Gunn's friend from the police department. I told her yes and she mentioned that Pete stopped by the other evening for the first time in a while. I finally got it narrowed down to Tuesday evening before-" He paused, peering at Edie as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. _Before he headed out to meet those two hoods in what was obviously a setup orchestrated by Pauly Denner_. _And I helped lead him straight into it_. Jacoby didn't say the words out loud, but they'd been niggling at the back of his mind all day. "Anyway, I got her talking and tried to find out whether anyone else had come in while he was there or if she noticed anyone hanging around, things like that. She had no idea but do you know what she _could_ tell me?" It was a rhetorical question and Jacoby didn't wait for an answer. "She could tell me what style and color suit he had on, what color his tie was, what his cuff links looked like, what type of shoes he had on and what cologne he was wearing." He saw Edie's lips tip up briefly, which was what he was going for. "I go into a place and they don't remember my face ten minutes later, much less what I ordered or what clothes I was wearing."

Jacoby leaned back in his chair as Edie stood and cleared the plates off the table and took cups down from an upper cabinet, returning with two cups of black coffee. After retrieving sugar and cream she settled back down in her seat and began adding both to her liking. He followed suit, sending an occasional glance her way, finally wrapping his hands around the warm cup and leaning into the table.

"Does it ever bother you?"

She looked at him curiously then picked up the train of conversation.

"Not as much as it once did." The corners of her mouth tipped up again. "It's just another one of those things that's not his fault," using Jacoby's words from early that morning. "He is who he is and I know other women find him attractive. If I was one of those other women I would too. But I give him a hard time about it when I get the chance just to keep him on his toes. I think it does things for his ego when he thinks I'm jealous." She lifted her cup for a sip of coffee then set the cup down and stared into its depths, arms folded on the table as she continued in a somber tone. "But that's as far as it goes, you know? They may see what he's like on the outside but they have no idea about anything else...like what color boxers he's wearing under that suit or who gave him the cuff links or why he wears that cologne or what brand of toothpaste he uses or what side of the bed he sleeps on. Those are things he saves for me. Or at least he did until I messed everything up."

"You and Pete will be okay. He hasn't gone anywhere."

Edie searched his gentle eyes and nodded hesitantly at the truth she found there. She could only pray he was right.

They drank their coffee in silence for a few minutes, both lost in thought, Jacoby trying to pull some words together to say what he needed to say, Edie trying not to dwell on where Pete might be and how much trouble he might be in and whether he was hurt or worse. She rested her chin on her hand as she continued to stare into her coffee, a reminiscent smile forming on her lips.

"I remember the very first time I ever laid eyes on Pete."

Jacoby leaned back and watched as she spoke, deciding he just might be on the cusp of a great discovery. Pete had never been one to publicly advertise his relationships, keeping his personal life just that, even when it came to good friends. Sure, he knew that Peter Gunn's relationship with Edie Hart went way beyond smooching on the deck behind Mother's or making out on that couch in the other room. Everybody who knew them was aware of that. But neither one of them talked about it. They probably just took it for granted that people could and would figure it out for themselves. Not that it was anyone's business. He hadn't even known Pete was dating the woman until three months after the fact. That's how much they kept to themselves about things.

"I had an audition at Mother's but she had something come up during the time I was supposed to be there, so she had me come in that evening and do a live audition instead." She slanted a glance at Jacoby. "When the club was actually open." He nodded his understanding. "I got there a little early to go over some music with Emmett and the other guys and then we did a set using just some stuff we all knew. Mother apparently liked it because she had us do a second set a little later. About halfway through the second set the door opened and this fella came in..." She picked up her spoon and began to absently stir the remains of her coffee. "He wandered over to Mother's table and sat down and she did that little thing she always does with his chin and gave him a kiss on the cheek. And she smiled at him." She laughed a little and shifted her gaze to the man sitting across from her. "That was the first time I'd actually seen her smile since I'd met her, so I figured he must be someone special. And he got this little smile on his face, just the corners of his mouth curving up, but you could see it in his eyes, too. And they talked for a little bit and then he turned toward the stage and started listening. And his eyes kept smiling and it felt like he was staring straight into my soul." Another small laugh and a wide self-deprecating smile. "And I thought he was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

Jacoby studied her for a moment as she lapsed into silence. Rising from his chair he retrieved the coffee pot and poured them both a second cup. The sugar and cream ritual went by the wayside as he instead clasped his hands before him on the table and stared across at her. Edie placed her own hands on the table, grasping her coffee cup as if needing something to hang on to, and gazed back at him. After pondering for a moment Jacoby began to speak, his voice soft and reflective.

"There was a homicide case about six years ago. It started out as a missing persons case, a young girl who'd just graduated from high school. Her name was Eleanora White. Her parents reported her missing when she didn't return home from a friend's house. She was seventeen, still underage, so the investigation began rather quickly when she still hadn't made it home by nightfall." Jacoby spoke slowly, reliving the case while he talked, trying to give a simplified explanation of something that had been very complicated at the time it happened. "But it seemed like she'd disappeared into thin air. She'd never been at the friend's house to begin with. None of her other friends had seen or heard from her. Every tip turned into a false lead. About a week after she went missing her body was found dumped beside the railroad tracks on the east side of town, right where Harmony Road cuts across the tracks and turns into a wooded area." The policeman stared at his clasped hands, a frown wrinkling his brow. "She'd been strangled. The medical examiner also determined she'd been assaulted." A simple word that could mean many things, but he could see that the woman seated across from him understood its implication in this instance.

"Did you find out who killed her?" Edie wasn't sure yet where the story was going or how it might involve Pete, but knowing Jacoby he'd get to it eventually.

"Yes and no." Jacoby took a gulp of coffee before continuing, grimacing at its tepidness. "The investigation lasted for a couple months and we had a suspect locked down. I won't go into details because they're too long and complicated, but we knew the guy was guilty. We absolutely knew without a doubt that he did the crime. The problem was we didn't have the evidence to prove it in front of a judge or jury. There were no fingerprints or other physical clues left behind to tie him to the case. He had an airtight alibi for every minute of every day the girl was missing. He had people protecting him and our regular snitches weren't talking. Our hands were tied unless someone came forward with information and that never happened."

The policeman rubbed his hands over his face then set his arms on the table, his fingers drawing restless patterns on the shiny surface.

"As you can imagine the parents were devastated, they didn't know where to turn. They wanted justice for their daughter. So did I. So did every cop in this town. So when the father asked me for the name of someone in the private sector who could be trusted to take a look at the case, someone who couldn't be bought off and who wasn't afraid of who he might come up against, I took him to see Pete." Jacoby breathed out a deep sigh. "Pete busted his tail on that case, running down everyone we'd talked to and finding people we hadn't thought to interview, going over everything in our files, talking to every cop who worked on the case. He had contacts, even then, who could come up with information for him that we in the department could never even hope to lay our eyes on. And still he came up empty just like we had."

"So this man got away with what he did." Edie could only imagine Pete's disappointment. He didn't take such outcomes well, always wondering what more he could have done or what he might have done differently. And six years ago he'd been much younger and undoubtedly much less experienced. It would probably have affected him harder back then.

"Not entirely." The ghost of a smile lit Jacoby's face. "Pete is resourceful if nothing else. While we old fuddy-duddy cops were just looking to take this guy down for murder, Pete decided that anything that would put him behind bars for any length of time would at least be a start at making him pay for Eleanora White's death. Between what he dug up during his investigation, and what the guys in Organized Crime had been sitting on for a couple years already, Paul Denner ended up being prosecuted for an assortment of crimes and was sentenced to ten years in state prison. It wasn't much but it was something."

"I don't understand what all of this has to do with what happened to Pete."

"When Paul Denner went to trial he drew Judge Harry Sedgewick. The guy's a no-nonsense type who's known for tough sentencing. Denner had already had a number of serious scrapes with the law so Judge Sedgwick ordered him incarcerated at The Beltway. It's the toughest prison in the state." Jacoby rubbed his chin, feeling the bristly evidence of a long day without a shave. "Needless to say we were all quite delighted when we heard where Denner was going. There's a strange sense of ethics among some prisoners in places like that. We figured Denner wouldn't last long once the story of Eleanora White's murder started making the rounds."

Jacoby looked at his watch. He was officially off duty after a marathon self-assigned double shift. Lifting himself wearily from his chair he opened the refrigerator and availed himself of one of those beers he'd noticed earlier. He plunked himself back down and pried the cap off the bottle as he met Edie's questioning gaze.

"Unfortunately that didn't happen. Denner was the subject of quite a few beatings and was knifed with a shiv at one point, but he managed to survive everything thrown at him."

He tipped the bottle of Pabst and took a long swig.

"To add insult to injury, he was paroled two weeks ago." Jacoby set the now empty bottle down and met Edie's gaze. "When he was sentenced to prison he threatened Pete. He said Pete would pay for, and I quote, _sticking his stupid PI nose where it_ _didn't belong_. Denner's back in town and he's behind Pete's disappearance, this I know. And we will find him. Whatever it takes we will find him. And when we find _him_ we'll find Pete."


	6. Chapter 6

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

His head was buzzing. Pete knew it shouldn't feel as bad as it did just from the knocking around he'd received over the past several days. He should be feeling punch-drunk, sure. He'd been there before, too many times to count really, but this was something else entirely. The light continued to do things to him, bringing on bouts of nausea and blinding headaches and dry heaves. He kept his face turned away from the window whenever possible to avoid the glare of watered down sunshine or milky street lights. But there wasn't much he could do on the occasions his new-found friends decided to pay him a visit. The light from that single dirty bulb above caused him almost more pain than their kicks and punches. And he was thirsty. So very thirsty. The drip, drip, drip of water somewhere nearby remained to taunt him. Even if he could figure out where it was, though, odds were he wouldn't be able to get to it. His hands remained cuffed behind him, his shoulders and arms numb from the strain. Even if the cuffs were to come off he didn't think his body could force itself to move. He recalled reading an article once that talked about the length of time a man could survive without water. Three or four days? Maybe longer if the conditions were right. He guessed it depended on the man.

As though called to action by his thoughts, the door at the top of the stairs opened. They didn't even bother to keep it locked anymore. Pete tried to make himself relax as he wondered what was coming this time. Instead he just tensed up further. It had been a while since they'd bothered with him. Hours? Half a day? A day? He couldn't keep track of real time. But the last time they had visited he'd been left with his bottom lip split open, he could still taste the blood, and he just knew a couple of ribs that had merely been bruised previously were now cracked or worse. He listened to the footsteps on the stairs. Only one of them this time. He felt rather than saw a shape looming over him then it was gone. The light on the ceiling came on, his eyes reflexively closing to shut out the brightness, and a scraping sound followed. His eyes cracked open a slit and the lower portions of four chair legs appeared in his line of sight as did a man's ankles and shoes. The Florsheims. Pauly Denner had come calling. Pete idly wondered where his two friends were. Probably upstairs having a good meal, with a nice wet bottle of beer and lots and lots of nice wet water. Denner sat down on the chair and one shoe disappeared from Pete's view as he casually crossed an ankle over one knee. Denner said nothing and Pete certainly didn't feel like initiating a conversation. The silence stretched into minutes. That was fine with Pete. There was something to be said for silence. Then came some shuffling sounds. Something landed on the floor a few feet away from Pete's face. His groggy gaze finally honed in on the object and it began to take shape and he recognized it for what it was. His wallet. He heard the chair squeak as the other man leaned back, then the flick of a lighter as he lit a cigarette.

"Funny thing about men, huh Gunn?" Denner mused. "How we carry our whole lives around with us wrapped up in a little piece of leather stuck in our back pockets? Now women are a different story. They carry everything under the sun in those big bags they tote around. Men? We only carry what's important." He shuffled through some items. "I have here in my hand just a few scraps of paper and plastic, but they tell me every important detail I need to know about Peter Gunn."

Out of Pete's line of vision Denner held up an item.

"Take your driver's license for instance." He began reading off information. "Peter James Gunn. 129 Miller Court Road, Apartment 8. Six two, one ninety-five, eyes blue, hair black. Expires in two months. Guess you won't need to worry about that, huh Gunn?" He laughed and blew smoke into the air before tossing the small piece of paper and watching it flutter to a landing a few inches from the wallet. He picked another item. "Private investigator license... issued by the State Bureau of Security and Investigation Services. Seems they're not very particular when it comes to handing these things out." It landed almost on top of the wallet. "American Express credit card, expires April 30, 1961." He flipped the card over to look at the backside. "Fancy. Real fancy." It joined the growing pile near the wallet.

Pete closed his eyes against not only the light but against the sound of Denner's voice, which seemed to echo around him in the enclosed area, pounding inside his head. As the man continued talking his words seemed to come from farther and farther away yet they remained stridently loud. Pete tried to concentrate but was finding it difficult to do so. He wished Denner would just shut up. But he didn't. He went through the same routine with Pete's insurance card, his Downtown Athletic Club membership card and some receipts from the last case he'd worked on. And he thanked him for the cash the wallet had contained. That six hundred dollars would go a long way. Pete wondered what the point of all this was but he was too tired to ask. He suddenly just wanted to sleep. And if Denner would just shut up and go away maybe he could do just that. He found himself drifting.

"So tell me something, Gunn..." Denner dropped the butt of his second cigarette to the floor, ground it out with the heel of his shoe and went through the motions of lighting another. He stared at the last remaining item from Pete's wallet, tapping the edge of it with one restless finger, his eyes thoughtful as he absentmindedly blew smoke rings that lifted to hover above his head before dissipating. His voice was almost gentle when he eventually continued. "You got a girl?"

* * *

Lieutenant Jacoby was still at Peter Gunn's place long after he finished his discussion with Edie Hart. He told her to go to bed and get some sleep and after watching her go upstairs had called his wife to let her know he'd be even later getting home than he had originally thought. Janet Jacoby commiserated with her husband and asked after Edie and was brought up to date on how the case was going. Then she told her husband she'd expect him when she saw him and ended the call. Since then Jacoby had been sitting at the kitchen table reading the morning paper which he hadn't had time to look at earlier. Just as he expected there was a large write-up on the murders of the two men found floating in the river. The newspaper had been folded over to that story when he found it tucked between the cushions of the couch. With a deep sigh he pushed the newspaper away and just sat there at the table, his chin resting on his clasped hands. He glanced at the clock on the counter. It was past midnight. Pete had now been missing for over forty-eight hours.

Jacoby heard a sound from upstairs, not for the first time since he sent Edie up there to supposedly sleep. Which was something he wanted to get a few hours of himself before heading back to the station. With a tired groan he pulled himself to his feet, out of the kitchen and to the base of the stairs just inside the front door of the apartment. He stood for a moment and listened and heard it again. He shook his head wearily and trudged up the stairs. He'd been in this part of Pete's apartment three times, once when he'd stopped by just after Pete moved into his new place and his friend had shown him around, and twice just a couple days ago following his disappearance. So he knew there was a bedroom and a bathroom along a short hallway with some extra closet space at the end. The bedroom door was ajar so he tapped lightly and cautiously entered. He found Edie sorting and folding laundry, piles of socks and shorts and undershirts and handkerchiefs scattered across the bed. She was wearing pajamas and a robe but had obviously not gone to bed.

"It's after midnight."

"I know." She glanced a him as she picked up a pile of socks and deposited them in a bureau drawer. "I couldn't sleep. I work nights, remember?"

"Sure," Jacoby nodded. "Since you're still up I think I'll head home. That way you can put the chain on the door after I leave." Trudging back downstairs he pulled his coat on and set his hat on his head, nodded goodnight and waited outside the door to hear the locks slide into place. And he went home and slept for the first time in twenty-four hours.

Edie eventually crawled beneath the covers a few hours later, the aroma of everything that was Pete clinging to his pillow as she hugged it to herself and sleep finally claimed her.

* * *

"You got a girl?"

Pete opened his eyes and felt his stomach clench. Denner's question rang in his ears. Why would he ask that, why was it even important? Then his eyes flickered to his wallet and the paper scraps surrounding it. License, credit card, receipts...he tried to concentrate, he tried to recall what the other items were that Denner had tossed to the ground. License, credit card, receipts. License, credit card, receipts, insurance card, investigator's license, club card... _Oh God._

Pete didn't answer the question but Denner could see his jaw clench as realization hit him. He flicked his cigarette away and moved to squat next to Pete. He placed the photograph he held in his hand against the wallet lying a few feet away, tilting it a bit so the other man could see it clearly.

"She's very pretty." Denner smiled ingratiatingly and tapped the photo almost lovingly with his index finger. "You carry her picture around in your wallet so she must be your girl." He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Is she your girl?"

"No." Pete got the word out between clenched teeth. And at that moment he was glad he wasn't lying. No, she wasn't his girl. Not right now. Not this minute. Technically. And if that would keep her out of this mess then he was glad she wasn't and that he could truthfully say she wasn't. Even if she was.

"Oh come on, Gunn, sure she is. You don't have to lie to me. I saw her, you know. Going into your apartment building with that cop Jacoby." He smiled again as he saw Pete's eyes flicker over the photograph. "I sure did. Real pretty, like I said. I bet she'd be a real nice girl to have. And blond. Just like that other girl. You remember that other girl, Gunn? The one that ended up dead over across the tracks?"

Pete pulled his eyes away from the photo and glared up at Denner.

"She was...we're not together anymore...not for a while."

"But you still carry her picture so you must still love her."

"No."

"I told you not to lie to me. No man keeps a picture of a woman he doesn't love in his wallet. Especially if she dumped him." Denner smirked. "I bet she dumped you, huh Gunn?"

Pete didn't answer.

"Well since she's not your girl anymore..." Denner stood up, looked down at Pete and winked, "...I guess you won't mind if I give her a call. Or maybe pay her a visit to offer my condolences," he mocked.

"Leave her alone...she doesn't have anything to do with this." Pete could hear his own voice crack and felt a fire of pain rush through his chest as he struggled ineffectively against his handcuffs and against his physical and mental exhaustion. "Do whatever you want to me...just leave her alone."

Denner laughed, acutely aware of Peter Gunn's Achilles heel. After all, his boys had done their homework on the man. And now that homework was paying dividends. The thought that something might happen to his girlfriend was more painful to Gunn than any type of physical abuse might be. Denner squatted back down and picked up the photograph, looked at it for a moment before turning his face to Pete.

"That's a strange reaction since you say you don't love her anymore."

Pete lifted his head and spit at Denner, a mix of watery blood striking his face and dripping onto the picture in his hand. Denner lifted his arm and wiped away the blood with his shirt sleeve then with a quick laugh got to his feet and snapped the light off.

"Sweet dreams, Mr. Gunn."


	7. Chapter 7

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

Four days. Four _days_ he'd been working the case now and still he was no closer to finding an answer, still he was no closer to finding Pete. He was also no closer to locating Pauly Denner. Lieutenant Jacoby blew out the deep breath he'd been holding since he stepped through the door of Babby's pool room and back into the bright sunshine. Today was the first day since Pete's disappearance that it hadn't rained. Perhaps that was an omen of good things to come. Jacoby kind of doubted it but the thought was comforting anyway. He stepped off the curb, rounded the hood of his black unmarked police car and stood for a moment just looking up and down River Street. Finally he leaned back against the driver's door and removed his notebook from his left shirt pocket. Babby hadn't had anything to share with him but Jacoby knew he was working through his own string of contacts. He was one of the few that the policeman had made some progress with when it came to Peter Gunn's circle of 'friends'. And it wasn't from lack of trying, but more so from a meagerness of opportunity. He didn't know by a long shot who most of Pete's informants were, and those he did know about weren't exactly easy to find save for a few, such as Babby.

Jacoby snapped his notebook shut, stuck it back in his pocket and considered his next move. So far his detectives and uniforms hadn't had any better luck than he had. Word on the street was there _was_ no word on the street. The police department's regular snitches were either afraid to talk or they honestly didn't know anything. Not a big help when you were trying to find someone before that someone became a statistic. He had promised Edie Hart that they would find Pete. He should never have done that. What he hadn't told her was that the longer a case like this stretched out the less likely it became that the victim would be found alive. Which meant that after four days or five days or six days finding that person rarely brought closure to the case or to the victim's family. It just bought a plot at Rosemont Cemetery up on the hill and a nice spray of flowers to cover the casket. But Edie had to know those things already, right? You don't live your life as the wife or the girlfriend of a man in his type of job or Pete's type of job without realizing the hazards that come with it. And even if you don't enter the relationship with an understanding of those hazards they become reality at some point. You wake up one morning and sleepily watch as your man puts on the accouterments of his profession and it suddenly strikes you out of nowhere that there's a very real possibility he might not come home that day. And it scares the hell out of you, but there's nothing you can do about that because you love him and you're in it for better or for worse, so you end up spending a lot of time on your knees praying that it won't happen and that he'll walk through the door today and tomorrow and the day after that just as he has every day since you've been together. You pray that he won't become that statistic.

Jacoby got in his car and drove slowly up the street through a few stoplights that turned green just as he approached them, passed by Mother's on the left, then made a right and a left and drove further on down Tidal Street. He should have stopped at Mother's. The fact that he didn't left him with a hollow feeling inside. Pete had been a part of the old woman's life for a long time, brazenly setting up shop in her club and using his charm and unabashed good looks and occasional strong-arm tactics against the seedier element in the area to worm his way into her good graces and into her heart. Mother's would have closed down a long time ago if it hadn't been for Pete helping to keep at bay all the hoods and punks who wanted a part of the action on this side of the river. Mother was as aware of that as anybody and she appreciated it and was proud of Pete for taking care of that part of her business. Jacoby couldn't quantify his reason for not stopping, for not having been back to Mother's at all since that first night. Maybe it was the memory of the way they'd all looked at him that night. As if they blamed him. And maybe they should. After all, he was the public servant being paid by the taxpayers to help police this town. He was the one who wore the badge and that meant he was the one who should be doing the work behind the badge or delegating to the people who worked under him. He shouldn't be asking Peter Gunn to put his life on the line doing something he wasn't being paid to do. And he would let Pete know that. If he got the chance. And he hoped to God he would get that chance.

The car rolled to a stop across the street from Wilbur's place. The goatee-sporting bistro owner had to be one of Pete's oddest acquaintances in a world full of odd. And then there was Wilbur's girlfriend Capri, always hanging over his shoulder listening to his every word or relaxing in a corner posing for some indescribable work of art. And never saying a word. Jacoby often wondered how and where Pete found these friends of his but in most cases was afraid to ask. Wilbur's bistro was a hangout for an eclectic group of beatniks, writers, musicians and other less favorable characters. Maybe there was a common ground in there somewhere that involved Pete's predilection for jazz. Jacoby remembered once hearing someone call Pete a jazzhead. He wasn't exactly sure what that meant or whether it had been a compliment but perhaps jazzheads and beatniks held some common beliefs about what made the world turn. Jacoby wished he himself was more with it so he would know these things but figured he'd forever be without it. He got out of the car and crossed the street. At least Wilbur was easy to talk to, if you could figure out what he was saying.

Jacoby walked into the bistro and was met by a thick swirl of cigarette smoke. He hoped that's what it was in any case. The more it tickled his nostrils the more obvious it became that another aroma was intermingling with that of tobacco and nicotine. He heaved a sigh as he realized he'd have to go home for a change of clothes and a shower before heading back to the station. No way was he walking through a crowd of police officers smelling the way he would when he left here. He received a few curious glances as he made his way past a host of men drinking at the front end of the bar. At the back end he found Wilbur and the ever present Capri. They and a group of laid back and hairy young people were listening intently to a woman on the stage who was speaking what sounded to Jacoby to be gibberish. He stood quietly until the woman ended her spiel and received some overly enthusiastic applause before moving to stand in Wilbur's line of sight. The man's eyebrows rose slightly as he noticed Jacoby.

"If it isn't the _man_." Wilbur put his hands together and bowed his head slightly before running his eyes over Jacoby's standard hat and suit and tie. "The _heat_ has found the _coolness_ of my pad. Glad you could make the scene, you dig?"

"Uh, yes, I guess," the policeman answered with a puzzled frown.

"Like crazy, man."

Wilbur stared at him, Capri hanging on his neck. Jacoby cleared his throat.

"I got a radio call from headquarters that you might have some information for me?"

"Oh yeah, man. I think I have some news you can swing with, you know what I mean?" Jacoby was fairly certain he _didn't_ know what Wilbur meant but he nodded anyway. Wilbur picked a cigarette from a nearby ashtray and took a long drag before handing it off to Capri. He looked the policeman up and down and wondered where a cool cat like Pete had found him. To each his own he supposed.

Jacoby waited.

"You need to fall by Sammy's Pawn over on Fourteenth and Waverly." Wilbur spoke softly and emphasized the name of the business and the address, talking with his hands. Capri dipped her head knowingly. Jacoby nodded and reached into his shirt pocket for his notebook and pen. "Sammy says a cat's been in trying to sell a certain item, you dig?"

"What item would that be?" Jacoby glanced up from the page he was scribbling on, pen at a standstill as he waited.

"Take a wild swinging guess, man."

"I'm all out of guesses at this point." Jacoby was becoming impatient with the man but didn't want to seem ungrateful for his help. "Why don't you clue me in?"

Wilbur reached for the cigarette that Capri had returned to the ashtray. He held it up in front of his face and made a motion with his other hand that involved snapping his thumb against the top finger of his closed fist.

"A lighter, man. A solid gold swinging cigarette lighter."

* * *

Lieutenant Jacoby didn't know Sammy but Sammy apparently knew Pete and that was a starting place. The pawnshop owner actually knew Pete well enough to recognize the gold cigarette lighter as belonging to him. Another one of those odd acquaintances when one considered that Peter Gunn certainly wasn't a man who needed to be spending a lot of time in such an establishment. And to make Jacoby's day even brighter, Sammy was in possession of the article in question. Jacoby used his pen to turn the lighter over in his hand where it lay on his folded handkerchief. He doubted the lab would be able to pull any identifiable fingerprints from it but it was worth a shot. He stared at the lighter curiously, wondering where it had been for the past four days, wondering when it had last been in Pete's possession.

"You say you know the man who brought this in?"

"Sure thing, Lieutenant," the fortyish man nodded, elbow resting on the glass top of the counter behind which he stood. He absently smoothed a droopy mustache that contained the same small glitters of silver that sprinkled his dark hair. "The guy comes in pretty regularly. He runs a shoeshine stand outside the Bennett Hotel up at the end of Waverly. Name's Harry Lunn. When he pulled out the lighter and showed it to me I knew right away it was Pete's. I'd recognize it anywhere."

"And he'll be back when?"

"Should be any time now. When he asked how much he could get for it I told him I had a buyer who collected things like that and if he'd leave it with me I'd contact the buyer and see what I could do for him. Like I said, he's a regular so he pretty much trusts me." Sammy looked toward the door at the sound of a bell and gave a courteous nod to an older, grizzled man who made his way toward the other side of the store. "I told him to come back early this afternoon and I'd have some news for him. Then I called Herman Klip and he said he'd pass the word to Wilbur because Wilbur would know who to call."

Jacoby nodded, not quite certain what type of response that information merited. He decided he really should keep a file on Pete's contacts. A list like that would have come in real handy right about now. He made a mental note to do just that and quickly made another mental note of this Herman Klip.

"Herman Klip?"

"Yeah. Short dark-haired guy, wears glasses as thick as molasses." Sammy chuckled at his own rhyme then became serious again. "He feels kinda bad, you know, because he gave Pete some information about those guys he was meeting that night. Feels like it's partly his fault that Pete's in trouble." Jacoby nodded, remembering Barney saying that one of the messages he'd given to Pete the morning before his disappearance had been from a little guy with thick glasses. So that was his name, Herman Klip.

The bell above the door jingled again and this time both men looked in that direction. A tall wiry man with a receding hairline stepped into the shop, glanced toward the counter and then began slowly browsing when he saw that the pawnbroker was busy. Jacoby looked at Sammy, who gave a quick nod and then called the man over. Harry Lunn's eyes brightened when he saw the cigarette lighter that Jacoby still held in the palm of his hand.

"You the fella that collects these things?" Lunn gave the policeman a big smile.

"I suppose you could say that." Jacoby looked the man up and down then pulled out his badge and introduced himself. "Can I ask how this item came to be in your possession?"

"Why?" Lunn looked from Jacoby to Sammy and back to Jacoby.

"This lighter belongs to a man who's been missing for four days." Jacoby watched the man's eyes. "It was in his possession when he went missing. Now somehow it's in _your_ possession. Does that answer your question?"

Lunn raised his hands, palms outward, and backed away.

"Look, Mister, I haven't done anything wrong. I don't know what you're talking about." He seemed rattled but truthful. "I did a shine for a guy, he pulled the lighter out to light a smoke and it didn't work. Guess it ran out of juice, you know?" He shrugged. "Anyway, instead pf paying me my fifty cents for the shine he tossed the lighter in my jar. Seemed like an even enough trade to me. I figured I might get a few dollars for it at least."

"Can you describe the man?"

"I don't know, it's been a few days."

"I want you to come downtown with me and give a description of the man to a police artist." Jacoby carefully folded his handkerchief around the lighter as he began to usher Harry Lunn to the door of the shop. Lunn didn't appear too happy as he accompanied the policeman but he didn't put up a fight. "You think long and hard during the drive and come up with a real good description." Jacoby gave Lunn a hard look as he opened the car door for him. "You got that?"

The other man nodded.

"What about the lighter? "

"What about it?" Jacoby scowled, looking at the man through the rear view mirror as he stuck his key in the ignition and started the car.

"That was my pay for the shine. Will I get it back when you're done with it?"

Jacoby just stared at the man for a moment then slowly shook his head in disgust. He pulled a couple quarters from his pocket, leaned over the seat and dropped them in the shoeshine man's hand.

"No, you're not getting the lighter back," he sighed.

* * *

Lieutenant Jacoby paced the hallway outside of Peter Gunn's apartment. It was at times like this that he wished he had picked up his friend's smoking habit. At least it would give him something to do besides fiddle nervously with the lighter in his pocket. As he expected the lighter had yielded no clear fingerprints, just smudges that might belong to anybody, most likely Harry Lunn and Sammy the pawnbroker. Lunn _had_ been able to give quite a clear description of the man who had dropped the lighter in his jar and the police artist had created a very good likeness of his face. It was not the face of Pauly Denner. More than likely the man was an associate of Denner, someone who worked for him, someone who took part in Pete's abduction. Copies of the drawing were now in the hands of every cop working the case and hopefully someone out there on the street would recognize the face. It was also being compared with all mug shots on record. Right now, in a case with very few leads, discovering the identity of this man might be their last best hope of finding Pete.

Stopping in front of the door, Jacoby raised his hand to knock, then slowly let it fall back to his side. He pushed his cuff up and glanced at his watch. Almost ten in the evening. Edie might not even be awake. Then again, had she actually been sleeping at all? As Pete's friend he was finding it difficult to get in a few hours each day so what must it be like for the woman who loved him? He felt bad that he hadn't stopped by the previous evening. He had just given her a call to update her on what was, or in this case what wasn't, happening with the investigation. He knew from the shift reports of the officers watching the building that Mother and Emmett and Barney and a dark haired woman who turned out to be a girlfriend of Edie's had been by at various times, each of them evidently keeping tabs on her in one form or another. Edie herself had mentioned to him that a neighbor lady in her apartment building was feeding Thomas, the cat that Pete had brought home as a kitten compliments of Loretta Gymp following the Frog murder case. So she had people who were taking care of her in ways that he couldn't. But that really didn't make him feel any better.

Jacoby executed a sharp right turn and slowly paced down the hallway to the window that led out to the fire escape. After staring through the window for a few minutes he did an abrupt about face and retraced his steps to Pete's doorway, staring down at the floor and absentmindedly counting his steps as he walked. When he looked up Edie Hart was standing in the doorway looking at him, a wary expression in her eyes.

"Edie...hello." He stopped in front of the open door and removed his hat. "I was just coming by to let you know what's going on and..." His soft voice trailed off as Edie raised her eyebrows.

"You've been pacing back and forth out here for the last half hour." She tried a smile but failed miserably. "The news can't be very good if you can't get up the nerve to knock on the door."

Her blond hair was tied back in a short ponytail and there were dark smudges under her eyes indicative of sleepless nights and ceaseless worry. She stepped away from the door, allowing Jacoby to enter, then closed and locked the door behind him before preceding him into the living room and taking a seat on the sofa. This time, instead of sitting down next to her as he'd done a few days prior, Jacoby sat down on the chair opposite her, a small coffee table separating them. He placed his hat on the table and shrugged out of his gray overcoat then leaned back, hands clasped loosely on his lap. His gaze took in her cream colored silk blouse, tan slacks and bare feet. She was obviously tired but still holding up.

"We need to talk." Not a great ice breaker but Jacoby didn't know how else to start the conversation. He had to quit pulling punches when it came to Pete and this woman and this investigation. And when it came to himself as well. All the evidence, or lack thereof, in this case didn't bode well for a positive outcome and Edie and he both needed to realize that. This conversation was as much for him as it was for her.

"I sort of figured that." Edie stared down at her hands where they rested on her lap, then turned her face slightly away from him, her eyes flickering over everything but seeing nothing as she looked around the room. "I need to call Pete's Dad." She looked across at Jacoby, her gaze clear and overly bright. "How do I do that? Pete is all he has. How do I tell him-"

"You don't. Not yet." Jacoby moved forward to perch on the edge of the chair and then leaned in toward Edie, his soft brown eyes finding her blue gaze. "There are enough people worrying about Pete right now. We don't need to let his Dad know anything one way or the other until we know something solid. He doesn't need that worry on his shoulders and Pete wouldn't want that either." He glanced down at his hands then lifted his gaze back to hers. "And if and when that time comes we'll do it together. Okay?"

Edie searched his eyes, saw the honesty and compassion there, and nodded. She waited, watching as he tapped the fingers of one hand against the other and stared at her with a considering look. Then he reached his right hand into his pants pocket and brought something out. He looked at it for a few seconds before placing it gently on the coffee table. She stared at the item for several long moments, everything about her paralyzed. She finally reached out and picked it up, turning it over and over in her hands, her fingers running over it gently. It was Pete's gold cigarette lighter.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, not taking her eyes from it.

"Fellow tried to hock it at a pawn shop over on Waverly." Jacoby's voice was incredibly gentle as he watched the woman sitting across from him. She held the lighter as if it were the most precious thing in the world. And he guessed that at this precise moment it probably was. It was the closest she'd been to Pete in months. And it might be the closest she'd ever be again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

Choking and sputtering, Pete rolled his head to the side and coughed reflexively as cold water invaded his airway, causing his throat to constrict painfully. He could feel it on his face, invading his eyes, trickling into his ears, numbing his parched lips, seeping into his hair, running down his neck. He shivered and choked again as someone lifted his head roughly and held a container to his lips, pouring more water into his mouth and forcing him to swallow. He pushed at the container with one hand and coughed some more as his head dropped back to the ground. He opened his eyes a crack against the light and watched and listened as two men argued, the light eventually dimming and the noise of their voices fading as he slipped into unconsciousness...

"You stupid idiot! If he dies before the boss is finished with him we'll end up just like Lou and Vince, floating face down in the river with our heads full of lead." Charlie Malloy, the bigger of the two, a husky man with black hair and dark brown eyes and sallow skin, dropped the can that had held the water and glared up at the man standing beside him.

"Hey, you're the one that pounded his head into the cement to begin with," the slighter man argued back, his voice tight with anger. Bennie Marconi stood a good four inches shorter than Charlie but his wiry body held the muscular toughness of a professional boxer. "And you're the one that kept punching at him when I yelled at you to stop. Now there's something wrong in his head and he won't stay awake. And when Pauly finds out he's gonna blame both of us." He ran a disgusted hand through his crop of red hair.

Charlie leaned forward from where he rested on his knees, giving Pete's cheek a light slap before grasping his chin and shaking. Pete's eyes opened and he gave the two men a confused look. Or were there four of them? His eyes were unfocused and everything seemed to be a blur. The man leaning over him said something. Pete could see his lips move and could hear the words, but the lips and the words didn't match. His eyes slid shut again. Charlie got to his feet, pulled the string that turned off the ceiling light and started toward the stairs, pushing Bennie along in front of him. The redheaded man pulled his arm from Charlie's grasp and did a half turn back toward Pete.

"We need to put the cuffs back on him."

"Forget the cuffs," Charlie grunted, glancing back at Pete. "He's not going anywhere."

It was several hours later when Pete slowly came to once again. It was dark, almost pitch black, not even the muted light of the streetlamp making a difference on this night. The drip of water that had disappeared for a time was back and Pete could hear a strong gusty wind and the sound of hard drops of rain or maybe sleet hitting the small window high on the wall. He shivered, hunching his shoulders and wrapping his arms across his middle. It was only when several sharp pains coursed through his back and chest that he realized he was lying on bis side, his wrists free from the handcuffs that had bound him for...how long? He had lost track of time. A day. A week. It was all the same to him. With his body free of restraints he attempted to move, unable to withhold a grimace of pain and an agonized groan as he slipped sideways onto his back. His fingers curled into the dirt and sharp gravel of the floor as he tried to withstand the searing aches caused by just that minimal amount of movement. The hard solidness of the floor felt good on his back and shoulders after all the time spent on his stomach with his hands cuffed behind him, but the ground was cold and the air was damp. And his muscles were sore and his ribs ached and the pain in his head came and went. Weakly lifting a hand to his face, Pete touched one cheek and gasped in pain, quickly dropping his hand back to his side. His head began to pound and he allowed himself to drift once again...

He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. Because _she_ was there. And the only times she'd been there lately had been when he was in bed asleep. When she could get into his head and he wanted her to be there and he allowed her to be there. Not like when he was awake, when he tried to keep her out, most of the time anyway. Because if she got into his head when he was awake he would be thinking of her, and not the job, and he might make a mistake and he might miss something. Something that would jeopardize the case or have him on the wrong side of some thug's fists or maybe even get him killed. And he didn't want that. Not that last outcome anyway. Because he wanted her back, more than anything he had ever wanted in his life. He would do anything he had to do to make her part of his life again and getting himself killed didn't factor into that anywhere. She wouldn't be pleased if he did that either. He knew that because he knew her. And no matter what they were to each other right now, he knew that she loved him and that he loved her and he knew that would never change.

So he had to be dreaming. Such a nice dream, too. He could smell her perfume, the one she'd been wearing that last day, the one that had been his birthday gift to her. She had been so pleased with it, not just because it was her favorite, but because she knew he liked it so much. And he did like it, the way it blended with the other aromas that were just _her_. Just Edie. They were dancing, the two of them, he didn't know where. He felt the softness of her hair against his cheek, her hand cupping the back of his neck, the satiny feeling of her dress where his hands rested on her hips, the sway of her body against his as they moved in a slow rhythm just their own. Soft music filtered in from somewhere. It wasn't in the room with them but was as familiar to him as the woman in his arms. Associated with her and just theirs, fitting the rhythm of their dance. She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into his eyes, her lips slowly forming into that big smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes and brought her familiar laughter with it...

Pete awoke suddenly and it wasn't a dream anymore. Instead it was the hard tip of a shoe poking him in the side, exploring his tender ribs with an impatience born of vengeance. He lifted a hand and slapped at the shoe weakly, earning a soft laugh of amusement and disgust and something else that he was too tired to wonder about. And he smelled the sweet scent of Edie's perfume again even though he knew the dream was over. Or maybe _this_ was the dream. The shoe in his ribs, the pain in his chest, the ache in his head. The cold floor. Not a dream, but a nightmare. Maybe he had it backwards. But then Pauly Denner was kneeling beside him again, his brown eyes almost black, the scar above his left eye bringing Pete back to reality swifter than a kick in the gut would have. And again that smile, almost gentle in its rage.

"Enjoying the music?"

The smile remained on Denner's face as his eyes took in Pete's appearance, raking over his bruised and bleeding face and the once starched white shirt that held evidence of scuff marks from shoes along with smears of dried blood.

"That's quite a collection you have, Gunn. All the jazz, some of that highbrow stuff. I didn't know what your favorites were so I just grabbed what you had on the player. Figured they were something you listened to with your girl." His smile broadened as he saw Pete's jaw tense. "You don't like to talk about her, do you? Your girl? Most guys I know are just the opposite, always bragging about their girls. From what I've seen most of those girls couldn't hold a candle to yours. She's a real looker, know what I mean?" Denner released a morose sigh. "I haven't had a chance to visit her yet. Guess that makes you happy, huh?" He gave Pete's cheek a friendly tap. "There's always a cop outside watching. That Jacoby's not taking any chances."

Denner rose to his feet and paced a few steps, standing with his back to Pete as he lit a cigarette. He turned to look at Pete after a few minutes of silent contemplation, allowing his words to sink in before saying anything further.

"But I'm a patient man. That can wait." He blew cigarette smoke from his nostrils. "I'll wait til you're dead and gone and things have blown over. They'll stop being so careful after a while, maybe decide I've skipped town. You'll become old news. Then I'll pay her a visit, offer her my condolences like I said. By that time she'll probably be ready to start fresh, find herself a new man. Maybe even somebody from my side of the tracks."

Pete stared at Denner through half closed eyes, his jaw clenching and unclenching, his chest rising rapidly as his agitation at the other man increased. He wanted to lash out, beat Denner senseless, kill him, a fierceness and hatred he'd never felt before toward any human being making his fists clench and his heart pound and his brain spin. He rolled to his side, pushing himself up on one elbow before the pain in his body and in his head made him reel and made him want to throw up and had him back on his side with his arms wrapped around himself seeking a comfort that didn't come. He wanted to yell and scream and cry but he couldn't find the energy for even that. So he lay there and watched as Denner's legs came back into view, stopping just a few feet away. Watched as the other man knelt down once more and then reached into his breast pocket and removed a handkerchief. Not a man's handkerchief, but a woman's. Denner laid it close to Pete's face, maybe eight inches away. The aroma of perfume was sweet in Pete's nostrils, that same perfume he'd smelled earlier. And the handkerchief had initials embroidered on the corner. Edie's initials.

* * *

Stepping away from the refrigerator Mother straightened her angular form and let the door fall shut. She'd stopped at the meat market and the grocer's on the way over and picked up a few things to cover at least the next few days. She knew Edie hadn't been eating much, that she didn't have the appetite or the desire, and that the meals she _had_ been eating were mostly ordered from the diner up the street or brought over by her or Barney or Emmett or one of Pete's 'friends'. Pete's ' _friends_ '. Even she hadn't realized how many he had or how much those people cared about him and as a result how much they cared about Edie. Even the ones who didn't know her. Though it was amazing how many _did_ know her, which was interesting. So many had stopped by, from the little man Babby to that odd Wilbur and his even stranger girlfriend to some guy named Ulysses and another man named Josiah. Even Sammy, the pawnbroker who'd recovered Pete's cigarette lighter, had dropped by. Mother wondered how some of these people made it past the unmarked squad car parked within just a few steps of the front door of the building, but figured there must be some line of communication going on there. Just like during the prohibition era when she had learned the tricks of the trade. Some type of signal, a wink here, a nod of the head there. On one occasion someone had dropped by while she was there. Edie hadn't seemed surprised and had appeared to take some sort of comfort in the sometimes clumsy but kind words concerning Pete.

Mother laid out a few items for lunch and gave the clock another glance. Almost eleven. A little too soon to prepare anything so she headed back out into the living room. Edie was sitting on the sofa, arms around her drawn up knees, staring out the patio doors in contemplative silence as raindrops splashed against the railings and small puddles formed on the cement. She didn't spare a glance for Mother as the woman sat down next to her. Mother heaved a deep sigh and patted the younger woman on the knee and then let her hand rest there. She wondered what was going through Edie's mind so, being Mother, she asked in her own blunt way.

"I was thinking about what Lieutenant Jacoby said last night." Edie turned her tired gaze toward Mother as she answered.

"And what was that?"

"He said that Pete might not be coming back."

"Oh, what does he know!" Mother spat, irritated at the policeman yet at the same time feeling a surge of indescribable pain. "Pete's gotten himself out of a lot of situations over the years, he'll get himself out of this one, you wait and see."

"He said that the more time that goes by the less likely it is they'll find him- that he'll still be-" Edie took a shuddering breath and her lips trembled uncontrollably. "He said Pete might already be dead."

Silent tears began to stream down her cheeks as she relived her conversation with the policeman. He had told her that she needed to start facing the fact that Pete might not be coming home, that they _both_ needed to face that fact. Pete was very good at his job, Jacoby had said, he was the best there was. But there were some things about that job that he couldn't be protected from, and one of those things was people like Pauly Denner. People who held grudges, who basically hated the ground he walked on, who would do everything in their power to make him pay for any real or perceived wrongs he had done to them, either by coming after him personally or by going after the people he cared about. Jacoby had reminded her that she knew that from first hand experience.

"I can't imagine living in a world without Pete." Edie wiped at her cheeks with the palms of her hands. "I can't imagine never seeing him again."

Mother heaved a sigh and wrapped her arms around the younger woman and pulled her close.

"You know, these past few months that you two have been at odds with each other he's still been there," she said in her rough voice, slanting a glance at Edie's face. "You do know that, right? Every single night he's been there. Hanging around out of the way, waiting to make sure you got to work all right before leaving. Parking around the block somewhere at closing time and watching to make sure you got a ride home with Emmett or Barney or one of the other guys. I know the reason you gave for breaking up with Pete and how it was your decision and not his so nobody should blame him. And nobody blames either one of you. But that doesn't sound like a man whose work or anything else is more important to him than you are." Mother loosened her arms and sat back to look at Edie. "I understand why you made the decision you did. I warned you from the very beginning that getting involved with Pete Gunn would mean trouble. But not wanting to live in a world without him tells me that the reason you broke up shouldn't matter and won't matter after everything's said and done. We just need to keep the good thought, like Pete always says, and things will work out."

* * *

Lieutenant Jacoby dragged himself into his office at just after three in the afternoon. He had spent another long day attempting to locate some of his snitches and visiting with a few of Pete's people that Babby had finally been able to put him in contact with. Once again he'd come up with nothing solid. After hanging up his overcoat and tossing his hat on the rack he plopped down at his desk and eyed the pile of files that had been placed there. He flipped through them one after another, hoping something might jump out at him, but nothing did. With a sigh he leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on his desk and with a deep frown stared at the tips of his shoes. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when there was a tap on the door and it opened to admit Detective Harmon.

"Looks like we've got a hit on that picture, Lieutenant." Jacoby dropped his feet to the floor and swiveled his chair around as the other man stepped fully into the office. "I ran the drawing by some of the guys upstairs. Smitz in Organized Crime thinks he might be a cousin of Joe DeVito, a guy named Bennie Marconi. He's been sort of a watchdog for DeVito and his boys."

"Wait, wait, wait..." Jacoby held up a hand, his brow furrowed. "DeVito? Weren't he and Denner buddies back during the day?" He jumped up and stepped to his file cabinet, reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out a bulky file. He flipped through a couple pages and nodded his head. "I thought so. He was one of Denner's alibis during the White case." Looking across at Harmon he asked, "Do we have a mug shot on this guy? This Marconi?"

"Sure do. Sergeant Davis is pulling it now."

"Good. Have him send a uniform to the Bennett Hotel up on Waverly with the mug shot to get a positive ID from that Harry Lunn fellow." Jacoby grabbed his hat and coat as he stepped into the hallway with Harmon. "And I want surveillance on DeVito's place. Put as many men as you can on it. I want to know the second it happens if Marconi shows up there. Then meet me out front in fifteen minutes. We're going to take a drive across the River."

"Got something in mind, Lieutenant?"

"The O'Malley brothers have been feuding with DeVito and his gang over territory on both sides of the River for years. If anybody knows anything about this Marconi guy it will be the O'Malleys. And if they think we can tie him to a crime that might involve DeVito and might send DeVito up the river..." Jacoby shot Harmon a sarcastic glance, "...so to speak, they might be willing to put some feelers out for us, maybe find out where and with whom this Marconi fellow has been spending his time lately."


	9. Chapter 9

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

Unmarked police cars were currently stationed near the last known address of Bennie Marconi as well as that of a man named Charlie Malloy, all courtesy of information the O'Malley brothers were only too happy to provide. It seemed that Marconi and Malloy were boyhood friends who'd grown up together on the wrong side of the tracks. They had formed a so-called business relationship later in life and had managed to maintain it and their friendship even through a number of arrests and prison terms. Both men had been keeping a low profile lately, which was somewhat at odds with their normal way of conducting business. Copies of Malloy's most recent mug shot were now sitting side by side with Marconi's on the desks and in the squad cars of everyone involved with the investigation. Now all they needed was a break in a case where breaks were just not something they'd had an abundance of.

Day five of Peter Gunn's disappearance had slowly turned into day six. According to the clock it was mid-morning. Something needed to happen and it needed to happen quickly if there was to be any form of resolution to this case. As Jacoby had explained to Edie Hart it was possible that Pete was already dead. But knowing Pauly Denner if that was the case he would undoubtedly want to make a big deal out of it. Denner would want the entire world, especially Peter Gunn's part of that world, to know that he'd accomplished what he set out to do. That no one messed with Pauly Denner and got away with it. He would want to see the news of Pete's death splashed across the newspaper in headlines a half page tall.

Lieutenant Jacoby sighed and twisted his body into a more comfortable position on the couch in his office. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept more than a couple of hours consecutively. Obviously it had been before his friend's disappearance. And when he did manage to close his eyes and drift off for a while he inevitably awakened with a burdensome sense of guilt. Guilt that he had contributed to the predicament Pete was in. Not consciously, but because he was trying to help keep his friend occupied and _out_ of trouble while he was going through whatever it was he was going through in his personal life.

Jacoby's thoughts flashed back to the evening when he had found out that Peter Gunn and Edie Hart's relationship had gone south. He had called Mother's looking for Pete, hoping to get an update on a case they were both working on from different angles. The telephone had been answered by Edie so naturally he had jumped to the conclusion that she was expecting a call from Pete. He later wished he'd never taken that leap. He had made some silly joke about obviously not being the person she was waiting to hear from, and then he had asked when she expected Pete to show up at Mother's or if she knew where he might be able to find him. There had been silence across the phone line to the point that it became uncomfortable. Finally Edie had told him that Pete wasn't there and she wasn't certain where he might be but that Barney might know something. The next voice he heard had been that of Mother's longtime bartender. He had made a joke to Barney – maybe someday he would learn to keep his mouth shut – that he had obviously put his foot in it with Edie, whatever _it_ might be, after which Barney had very quietly explained to him that Pete and Edie were no longer an item. Needless to say he'd been dumbfounded, especially upon finding out that it had happened almost two weeks previously. Once again he had been among the last to know when it came to his friend's relationship with the woman in his life. It wasn't until late the next afternoon that he'd actually talked to Pete.

 _Peter Gunn's lean frame was sprawled, if that was even possible, along the small couch in Lieutenant Jacoby's office, his back against one arm, his leather-clad feet propped against the other. The private investigator held a cigarette in one hand as he flipped through the pages of a report bound in a manila folder, occasionally tapping ashes into an ashtray resting on the back of the couch. He didn't appear to be aware of Jacoby's contemplative stare but the policeman figured he had taken notice and was just ignoring him. After all, he had undoubtedly been by Mother's between the time Jacoby had called the previous evening and now, and was most likely aware that the policeman had been apprised of the situation that everyone else in the world of Pete and Edie already knew about. Jacoby tapped his fingers almost nervously on his desktop and then cleared his throat._

 _"Pete?"_

 _The man in question made a noncommittal sound, an answer that neither encouraged the policeman to continue nor warned him to back off._

 _"Why haven't you said anything to me about you and Edie?" he gently asked._

 _"What's to say?" Pete didn't look up from the report he was reading._

 _"I don't know. I guess..." Jacoby shrugged and fidgeted, moving things around on his desk."You and Edie have been together for a while now. I know it's been over a year. I just thought she was the one, you know?"_

" _She is."_

 _"So this is just one of those temporary bumps in the road then." It wasn't a question, just a way of encouraging Pete to talk if he wanted to talk._

 _"I don't know what it is." Pete flipped a page over and took a final puff from his cigarette before crushing it out in the ashtray. Apparently he wasn't interested in talking._

 _"Pete-"_

 _"It's personal." Pete sat up and tossed the folder onto Jacoby's desk. "Okay?"_

 _"Sure Pete." Jacoby didn't push the issue but Pete seemed to relent a bit._

 _"It's just-" He gave an almost defeated sigh. "There are some things I need to work on when it comes to me and Edie." Pete rested his elbows on his knees and stared down at his clasped hands. "And as much as I hate the thought of it, it's probably better if I'm alone to work those things out. But once I do and once I get her to talk to me again I think we'll be all right." He glanced at Jacoby. "I appreciate your concern, though. And if I do need someone to talk to I'll let you know."_

Now Jacoby's guilt was turning into sorrow and grief at the idea that Pete might actually be dead, at the look on Edie's face when he had told her there was a possibility he might not be coming back to her this time, at the thought that he could have tried to be more of a friend to both of them over the past couple of months than he actually had been. With an inward sigh Jacoby opened his eyes and pulled himself up from the couch, grabbing his hat and coat from the rack as he left his office.

* * *

The buzzer rang twice before Edie made it to the door, taking the final few steps down the stairs two at a time before whoever was there decided to either start pounding on the door itself or turn around and leave. She pulled the door open as far as the chain would allow, then closed it again to undo the chain and let the policeman into Pete's apartment. Having neither seen nor heard from Jacoby the previous day she was nervous as to what this visit might be about. She watched Jacoby shut the door behind himself, remove his hat and then just stand there and look at her. The silence stretched until she couldn't stand it.

"What's wrong?" The stress of the entire situation was evident in her voice.

"I want to apologize," the policeman finally said.

"What?" Edie shook her head in bewilderment. This wasn't what she was expecting, though the painful thumping of her heart lessened at his words. "Apologize for what?"

"For not being there for you over the past few months. For not being the friend I should have been." He released a regretful sigh. "For not even stopping by to see you after I found out about you and Pete. I thought I was a better person than that and there's no excuse in the world that can make up for my thoughtlessness." Jacoby fiddled with the hat in his hands. "Until you told me what actually happened I was under the impression that Pete had broken up with you, not the other way around. And looking back on it I guess that's probably what he wanted me to think. He said he had some things to work on when it came to your relationship and that it was probably best if he was by himself to do that. But none of that should have prevented me from being the friend I should have been." His eyes were kind and direct as he looked at Edie.

"You don't have to apologize for that," Edie told him. "And you were Pete's friend first, for a long time, so your loyalty should have been to him."

"Pete really loves you very much."

"I know," Edie nodded. She ran a tired hand through her hair and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as she folded her arms across her middle, rubbing at them as though she was cold. "That's what made everything so difficult. How do you tell someone who loves you that much that you can't be with him anymore? Especially when you love him the same way."

Jacoby nodded and decided the mood needed lightening.

"Got any coffee? I could really use a cup right about now."

He watched her head toward the kitchen before removing his overcoat and dropping it on a chair. Tossing his hat atop the coat he sat down to wait. About ten minutes later she brought out two cups of coffee, freshly brewed and filling the room with a robust aroma. They sat and drank in companionable silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts.

"I wish I had something new to tell you." Jacoby finally broke the silence. Whoever said that no news was good news was an idiot. No news meant just that. No news. Good, bad or indifferent. No news meant that Pete's dead body hadn't been found floating in the river with a bullet to the head. No news didn't mean that Pete was still alive. No news meant nothing except that more hours would pass before any news would actually mean something.

The shrill ring of the telephone interrupted any reply Edie might have made. She jumped up to answer it then handed the receiver to the policeman.

"Sergeant Davis," she told him.

"Hi, Lee. What's up?" Jacoby stood, picked up the phone with its long cord and paced slowly toward the sliding doors leading to the patio as he talked and listened, his eyes on the light brown curtains as they billowed inward in the cool breeze.

"Looks like we just caught a break, Lieutenant." Sergeant Davis sounded as excited as Jacoby had ever heard him, which was saying a lot. Davis had a cool exterior and tended to keep a very level head about him when it came to the job, which made him a great asset to Jacoby. For him to show such animation over the phone meant that something big must have happened. "Bennie Marconi was spotted going into Joe DeVito's house about fifteen minutes ago. He came right back out and was followed to a diner on Kinnard Street by one of the surveillance units. He's in there eating lunch right now."

Jacoby stopped pacing and stood absolutely still. He set the telephone down on a chair and rubbed a hand over his balding head as he digested what he'd just been told, his eyes still following but not really seeing the swaying movement of the curtains. He had to make a decision. Right or wrong he had to make a decision and he needed to do it quickly. Time was running out. Reaching into his pants pocket he gripped Pete's lighter which he was still carrying around with him. He had hated that he had been unable to leave it with Edie the day before yesterday. But not only was it necessary evidence in the investigation and as such something a jury might have to see one day, it might very well turn out to be an important bargaining tool. Dragging the lighter out of his pocket he stared at it, carefully keeping it out of Edie's sight. No use getting her hopes up. Or knocking them down.

"Tell them to go in and get him," he finally said, his eyes on the lighter.

"Lieutenant?"

"You tell them to go in and get him and bring him in to the station. I'm on my way back right now." Returning the lighter to his pocket he picked the telephone back up, turned around and began pacing in the opposite direction, his gaze falling on Edie. "And you tell them if he tries to run or make trouble to shoot him in the kneecaps. _Both_ kneecaps. You got that?"

"I got it, Lieutenant." Jacoby could hear the smile in the Sergeant's voice as he hung up.

* * *

Bennie Marconi slumped backwards in his chair, waving a dismissive hand toward Lieutenant Jacoby and Detective Harmon as they questioned him.

"Look cop, you've got nothing on me!" He leveled his baleful brown gaze on Jacoby's face. "I told you I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know anything about Pauly Denner and I don't know anything about Peter Gunn and I haven't seen Charlie Malloy since his last stint in prison."

"You don't know much about anything do you Bennie?" Jacoby said. "I'm surprised you've gotten this far in life considering your amazing lack of knowledge."

"I've been keeping my nose clean-"

"Your nose is about as clean as the soles of your shoes!"

"You can't keep me here-"

"I can keep you here as long as I want!" Jacoby's voice was uncharacteristically sharp. "You're a convicted felon and I have you knowingly associating with another convicted felon, your cousin Joe DeVito! Remember him? That alone will put you back in prison for at least another five years. And Joe DeVito? He's a buddy of Pauly Denner. So don't play the innocent with me." Jacoby placed his hands on the table behind which Marconi sat and leaned forward menacingly. "You tell me right now where Denner is and where Gunn is or that five years is going to grow into a lifetime behind bars."

Marconi smiled derisively and laughed. Jacoby steamed. Detective Harmon leaned back against a wall and watched with interest.

"Fine."

Jacoby straightened up and stared at Marconi. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out Peter Gunn's gold cigarette lighter. He tossed it across the table and watched it slide to a stop right in front of Marconi, just inches from where the man's cuffed hands rested. He gave a satisfied smile as the smirk slowly disappeared from the hood's face.

"Forget about life in prison. That right there will get you the chair."

Jacoby motioned to Detective Harmon and followed him to the door, turning back to give Bennie Marconi a steely stare.

"Chew on that for a while."

He pulled the door shut behind him with a decisive click.


	10. Chapter 10

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

The big office on the second floor was oppressively quiet as the two men who currently occupied it faced off against one another. The silent confrontation had nothing to do with anger or mistrust or even an overwhelming difference of opinion. It merely concerned the facts surrounding an investigation that they were both totally committed to but which they had different viewpoints on when it came to the ways and means of solving the case. The big man behind the desk finally interrupted the silence.

"Look, Lieutenant, I'm aware that Peter Gunn is a friend of yours and I understand that you have more than a professional interest in this case." Captain of Detectives A. C. Clark had a booming voice that could be heard throughout the entire precinct when he wanted to make himself and his opinions known, but today he kept it almost as quiet and gentle as Jacoby's voice normally was. "But you need to remember that you _are_ a professional member of this police force and that police business takes precedence over personal desires."

"I realize that, Captain-" Jacoby stood in front of his superior's desk, his suit a bit more rumpled than usual, his deep brown eyes tired but determined.

"We don't even have an eyewitness statement from anyone that Denner is actually back in town. There've been no physical sightings. So far everything we have is based on assumption and second-hand or third-hand information. Back-fence whispers from sources I wouldn't trust if it was my own mother they were talking about!"

"So you're saying we should just forget about it?"

"No. I'm saying that I don't have the authority to make a deal with this Bennie Marconi based on what you're giving me. Just because he's Joe DeVito's cousin doesn't mean he knows Paul Denner. Not even the O'Malley brothers could give you that." Clark heaved a rough sigh and leaned back in his chair, which emitted a strained creak as he shifted his bulky body. "Yes, consorting with DeVito will get Marconi prison time, but if he _is_ involved with Denner and with Gunn's disappearance five years is a drop in the bucket compared with what might happen to him at the hands of his own people if he sells out for a reduced sentence. The man's going to want a big time deal to avoid that and you just haven't made a case I can live with."

"And Pete's lighter?"

"He could have picked it up off the ground," another shrug, not unkindly, "found it in the gutter." Clark leaned forward, burly hands clasped in front of him on his desk, the expression on his face one of compassion. "Work with me here, Jacoby. You know I'm right. You know where this will end up if I give you the green light to do what you want, to just go about things in a willy-nilly manner without considering all of the very real consequences."

"Begging the Captain's pardon," Jacoby interjected in a soft voice, "but I don't really give a damn about the consequences. Paul Denner shouldn't even be out on the street. What about the consequences of that action? He doesn't deserve to be walking around a free man because we all know what he did. And you know _I'm_ right about _that_. If there's any way to put him back behind bars we should be doing that instead of sitting around discussing consequences." Jacoby made a half-turn and picked up his hat from the chair he'd set it on when he entered the Captain's office. He turned it over in his hands, staring at it before returning his gaze to Clark. "Pete's been a good friend to the Department. He's dropped so many solved cases into our laps that I can't even begin to start to count them. He's put himself in danger helping us get people off the street when our hands as cops have been tied. He's helped a lot of us personally. And he has never _ever_ wanted or asked for any recognition. And that begs the question as to who we're trying to protect here. Pete Gunn or Pauly Denner? Because from where I'm standing Pete's certainly not getting the respect he deserves from this office." Jacoby's lips thinned in anger. "Sir."

The office became very quiet then Jacoby spoke again.

"The D.A. has the authority to make a deal with Marconi." He held the other man's gaze. "Do I have the Captain's permission to speak with him?"

Clark gave Jacoby a long hard stare.

"No, you do not have permission, Lieutenant," he finally said.

Jacoby's lips pressed into a thin line as he put his hat back on and adjusted the brim, his eyes never leaving those of Clark. He felt as if his entire investigation had just been dealt a death blow.

Then Clark slowly got to his feet, stepped around his desk and reached for his own hat and overcoat.

"I'll talk to the District Attorney myself."

* * *

Jacoby chafed as he thought of all the time that had been wasted. First between him and Captain Clark, then between Clark and the District Attorney. It always seemed that the faster you wanted things to happen the longer they took. At least it seemed that way in police work. In all fairness the D.A. hadn't had to think too awfully long before giving his blessing to a deal with Bennie Marconi. After all, he'd been an assistant attorney in the D. A.'s office during the case involving Paul Denner and the murder of Eleanora White. He wanted Denner back off the street again as much as the next guy. He had also had dealings with Peter Gunn in the not so distant past, dealings which had caused him to come out looking and smelling like a rose to his office and to the public. Whatever Bennie Marconi asked for he would be given, within legal limits, contingent on the information he presented to the police and whether that information led to the whereabouts of Paul Denner and Peter Gunn. He would also be called upon to testify at any court proceedings initiated as a result of the investigation.

Standing just outside the interrogation room, his back to the closed door, Jacoby stared at the piece of paper in his hand. Written in his neat script was an address, 112 Idlewood, a location just south of the big bend in the river in a section of town that was home to both businesses and residences. Unfortunately the so-called businesses that populated the area weren't ones that normal everyday folks would be associated with. What made it even more intriguing was that it was also a very good area for a person to disappear into if he didn't want to be found. A person like Paul Denner. Jacoby blew a tired breath through dry lips then looked up as Detective Harmon appeared beside him. He handed Harmon the notepaper.

"Get all the information you can on this address. Who owns the building, whether its currently occupied, who the neighbors are, the works. Set up surveillance right away and be sure to keep it low-key. I don't want to tip anyone off before we go in."

"You actually think anyone will still be there?" Harmon ran a hand through his short graying hair. "According to Marconi he was expected back at the place hours ago. If that's the case then Denner already knows something's off. He might already have skipped town and could be somewhere upstate by now. As for Pete," the detective shrugged his narrow shoulders, "who knows?"

"You don't have to remind me of the possibilities," Jacoby bluntly answered. "I knew what the risks were when I ordered Marconi picked up and I've been questioning that decision since I made it. But this thing has to end somewhere whatever the outcome."

He nodded toward the squad room. "Get those things taken care of. Then get a team ready to go in. I want the best men we have. If Pete's still there – if he's still alive – I don't want any mistakes made that might end up getting him killed."

The Lieutenant glanced at the big clock on the wall. The hands had crept past ten-thirty already. The evening outside was pitch black and another steady rain had picked up. Maybe they'd be given the element of surprise this dreary night. Maybe not. He opened the door to the interrogation room, stepped inside and closed the door back behind him. Then he sat back down at the short end of the table and listened as the man from the D.A.'s office continued to ask questions and the police stenographer continued to put the questions and answers in writing. Jacoby interjected with his own questions when the situation warranted. And the more he heard come out of the mouth of Bennie Marconi the harder his expression became and the more he hated Paul Denner. He had never before realized that such a deep hatred toward a fellow human being was possible.

* * *

It was a large two story house, probably with a basement, right on the waterfront. The windows were dark except for one on the first floor corner. There was a detached two car garage that appeared to be empty and a driveway that swung out toward the road that ran along the front of the house. Jacoby had seen no movement since he had arrived. The officers who had been conducting surveillance of the property reported that no one had entered or exited the home during the time they'd been there. Standing in the inky blackness beneath the awning of a building catty-corner from the house, Jacoby held up his wrist and tried to get a look at his watch. With the benefit of a sliver of light glancing off a window behind him, courtesy of a street light half a block up, he saw that it was now almost two in the morning. With a deep seated feeling of unease he motioned with one hand to Sergeant Davis as the officer knelt beside the half open door of an unmarked car parked at the curb. A few soft words spoken into the police radio by Davis set a team of twelve men, including he and Jacoby, in motion. Within thirty seconds the house was surrounded. Lieutenant Jacoby at the front of the house and Detective Harmon at the back watched as those respective doors were kicked in and police swarmed inside. They were met with no resistance. A quick top to bottom search of the property left them empty handed.

No one was home.

Lieutenant Jacoby pulled his coat aside and holstered his weapon, visibly angered. For some reason which he couldn't pinpoint he wasn't really surprised the house was empty. It was just another frustrating example of how this case had progressed. He stood in the middle of the first floor living room, eyes darting here and there as he gave orders.

"I want this place gone over room by room, inch by inch, until every corner is covered. Check closets, drawers, garbage cans, under the beds – if there's a piece of evidence, a clue of any kind, I want it found! Search the garage, the back yard, everywhere. Davis!" Jacoby heaved a dispirited sigh as Sergeant Davis appeared at his side. "Get the lab boys in here to check for prints. Blood. Whatever they can find." Davis nodded and, hurrying through the front door, heard his disgruntled boss slam his fist against the wall and utter an expletive.

Jacoby swiped a sweaty palm over his face then rubbed at his chin as he stared around the room he stood in. He'd been so afraid of this. That this would be the result of his decision to have Marconi taken into custody at that diner. Denner had been tipped off, either by the simple fact that Marconi didn't show up when he'd been expected or by someone who had seen the man being picked up by the police. Denner had been in this house within the last half day. So had Pete. Now they were both gone.

"Lieutenant?"

He turned his head to look at the officer standing a few feet away. The young man held a revolver, a pencil stuck up the barrel to hold it upright and keep the shiny surface from being contaminated by any new fingerprints. The gun was a Colt .38 Detective Special.

"I found this on the kitchen table."

Sticking his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, Jacoby stared at the weapon for several seconds before walking slowly over to the other man. Taking his handkerchief from his pocket he wrapped it around his fingers then gently tapped on the cylinder of the gun until it fell outward. There were six bullets in the chamber. Tilting his head he looked for the serial number on the frame. The final four digits registered in his brain.

"It's Pete's." He glanced toward the front door as heavy footsteps on the porch indicated the return of Sergeant Davis, several men from the police lab trailing him. "Have the lab boys dust it for prints, then empty the cylinder and bag all of it for evidence." Jacoby stepped around the officer and into the kitchen just as Detective Harmon stepped into the same small room from another door located between the stove and a set of cabinets. The detective motioned behind him with his head, eyebrows pointedly raised.

"You need to take a look in the basement, Lieutenant."

He didn't want to. That look in Harmon's eyes told him he shouldn't. But he knew he had to. He followed the man down the set of wooden stairs leading to the basement. The air down there was cold and damp, the room shadowed, one small window located high on the wall facing the street, a bare light bulb against the ceiling in the middle of the room. Jacoby looked around, nothing really jumping out at him. There were the normal things you might find in a basement. A wooden workbench along one wall, two wooden chairs and a worktable, various tools, an old low-standing four drawer cabinet with one drawer pulled open, a double sink. The floor was cement and gravel. He kicked at the gravel with the toe of one shoe, glanced upward at the window where rainwater was seeping through a seal, the steady drip, drip, drip an irritating noise in the otherwise quiet of the room. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Detective Harmon. The older man nodded toward the open cabinet drawer. Jacoby walked over to stand next to him and allowed his gaze to follow Harmon's. His gut clenched. Inside the drawer was a wristwatch, key ring, necktie – with one finger he lifted the tie to look underneath – a pair of cuff links and a collar pin, a man's black leather wallet along with various pieces of personal identification and other items that had apparently been removed from the wallet. There was also, oddly enough, a woman's handkerchief and a small vial of perfume. He slowly reached into the drawer and picked up Pete's driver's license and private investigator's license, then quickly began to gather together the other paper items, the last one being a photograph of Pete's girlfriend. He looked at it closely, dried brownish stains catching his attention. He held it out toward Detective Harmon.

"Look like blood to you?"

The detective nodded his head.

"Find blood anywhere else?"

"No," Harmon shook his head then walked over to the workbench along the wall. "But we found these." He lifted up a pair of handcuffs using a screwdriver which lay on the bench.

Jacoby's shoulders slumped and he drew a deep breath which he slowly released. He tore his gaze away from the handcuffs and gathered up a few more of Pete's personal items from the drawer – the key ring, cuff links, necktie and collar pin would most likely hold no fingerprints – as well as the handkerchief.

"Make sure those handcuffs and what's left in the drawer get dusted for prints. I'll get an evidence bag for these things," he held up the items he had removed from the drawer, "and I'll take them with me. The rest of his personal items can be sent to my office once the lab boys are done with them. Be sure to use a separate bag for the cuffs."

Jacoby wearily climbed the stairs. He stood in the middle of the kitchen for a minute or two, his eyes readjusting to the brighter lighting and his mind trying to adjust to what he had seen in the basement. When he finally walked back into the living room he was met with the sight of several more pieces of evidence. A black suit jacket and a pair of pricey black leather shoes lay atop the back of a sofa.

"Those were found in the garage stuffed inside a bag, Lieutenant. The jacket matches the description of the suit Mr. Gunn was wearing when he was last seen."

Jacoby checked the label on the inside of the jacket. He almost had to smile. Peter Gunn was the only man he knew personally who had his suits custom made. He nodded at the officer who provided the information. Then out of habit he checked the jacket pockets. He came up with a roll of breath mints from one side pocket and a laundry ticket from the other side pocket. From the inner pocket he removed a comb as well as a receipt for an insurance payment dated a week previously. That answered one question that had been niggling at Jacoby's brain – who had left the message regarding insurance that Barney said Pete had crumpled up and thrown away? Turned out to be an insurance guy they both happened to do business with. He added the mints, laundry ticket, comb and receipt to the evidence bag containing Pete's personal items. Then he took the bag, jacket and shoes out to his car and dropped them on the front passenger seat. He stood with his hand on the driver's side door handle for the longest time, staring through the darkness in the direction from which he could hear the gentle lapping of small waves against the shore, before slowly walking back into the house and locating Sergeant Davis on the second floor.

"Lee?" His voice was soft.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" The uniformed officer straightened upon hearing his given name fall from Jacoby's lips.

"Do me a favor?" Davis nodded. "Give Harbor Patrol a call. Give them this location and request that they start doing sweeps of the river. Tell them to cover the range where a body might end up if it entered the water within the last sixteen hours or so. And tell them to call me if they find anything."

"Sure thing, Lieutenant." Davis nodded solemnly. "I'll get on it right away."

Jacoby nodded his thanks before walking away. Then, just out of simple curiosity, while passing back through the living room he stopped at a console sitting by itself in a corner. He idly lifted the lid and glanced inside. Silently he reached down and lifted several LPs from the turntable, recognizing them as those missing from Peter Gunn's apartment. He handed them to an officer, requesting that they be labeled and bagged as evidence, and then headed back to the precinct house for another conversation with Bennie Marconi.


	11. Chapter 11

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

Seated at his desk, suit jacket and tie thrown over the back of a chair, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Lieutenant Jacoby stared at the evidence bags containing, among other things, Peter Gunn's personal effects. Reaching for one of the bags he slowly opened it and upended the items it contained onto his desk. They were the things he'd personally removed from the collection in the basement and from Pete's suit jacket.

Breath mints and comb, just ordinary things men carried around with them. Though he had to admit his friend might be just a little more compulsive about those two items than most other men he knew. Jacoby found it quite humorous at times and often wondered if the impeccable hair and minty breath were more for the benefit of all those female clients who seemed to crawl out of the woodwork or for the woman Pete gravitated to every second of his free time. He pulled the laundry ticket out from beneath the comb and made a note of the number on it and then did the same with the receipt from the insurance agent. He picked up the key ring and gave it a cursory inspection, noting that Pete's car keys and apartment key were still attached. He wasn't certain what the other several keys were for – one looked like it might fit a safety deposit box but there were no identifying marks on it, one was most probably the key to _Mother's_ , a third appeared to be another apartment key. Edie's? He made himself another note to stop by her building and check on that. He knew it would be easier to just ask Edie to identify the key but he wasn't certain he was up for that. Just knowing that all of Pete's keys seemed to be accounted for lifted a load off his mind though. Cuff links, collar pin, necktie. He inspected the tie but it looked clean. Of the items from Pete's wallet only the photograph appeared to have blood on it. That was curious. Lastly was the ladies hankie. He got a whiff of perfume as he handled it, noticed Edie Hart's initials embroidered on one corner. He placed the handkerchief to one side, shoved the key ring into his pants pocket and returned the other items to the bag, added notes to the itemized list on the front of the bag then placed it in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet, next to Pete's jacket and shoes.

The second bag contained the remainder of the items that had been in the drawer in the basement – wristwatch, wallet, vial of perfume. They had been dusted for prints but Jacoby could tell just from looking that nothing legible had been found. He removed the cap from the perfume and brought the small container to his nose. It was the same scent as that on the handkerchief. He picked up the wristwatch. It had wound down at some point, the hands stopped at 2:26 and 44 seconds. Other than that it appeared to be in pristine condition. Figuring the wallet to be empty Jacoby looked through it anyway. Stuck in one corner of the compartment reserved for paper bills, many bills of many different denominations knowing Pete, he found two small pieces of paper folded together. They turned out to be slips from fortune cookies. Curious as to why Pete – or in his opinion _anyone_ for that matter – would hang on to such things he took a look at what they said. The first one read "Be patient, in time even an egg will walk", the second "The love of your life is sitting across from you". A soft smile hinted at his lips as he re-read them. Then he carefully refolded the papers and returned them to the exact location he had found them. He set the perfume aside, placed the rest of the items back in the evidence bag and laid it on top of the other one in the drawer.

A third bag contained Pete's revolver, the notations on the front indicating that it had indeed been positively identified as belonging to the PI, that it had not been fired any time recently and that two sets of legible prints had been found on the weapon – Peter Gunn's on the cylinder and grip and – Jacoby almost pumped his fist in triumph – those of Paul Denner on the barrel. Denner's were only partials but were enough for a positive identification. In a fourth evidence bag were the handcuffs found in the basement. No legible prints were found on the cuffs but evidence of dried blood had been discovered on the inside edges of one cuff. The final bag contained the phonograph records Jacoby had found on the turntable. He placed the LPs aside with the perfume and hankie, added everything else to the collection in the filing cabinet and slid the drawer shut.

Jacoby placed his elbows on his desk, folded his hands together and rested his chin upon them. Then he stared in silent meditation at the items remaining on his desk, all items that had obviously been removed from Peter Gunn's apartment some time after Denner and his boys had grabbed him and before Jacoby's second visit to the apartment, a span of no more than three hours. Jacoby sighed. If only he had thought to put surveillance on the apartment earlier. Then he frowned as a different thought struck him. He knew the LPs had been taken from Pete's apartment, but that didn't mean the other two items had come from there. After all, Denner had been in possession of Pete's keys and, if the one was actually to Edie Hart's apartment, someone could conceivably have removed the other items from her place since she hadn't been there for a week now. He somehow doubted that though and at this point it really didn't matter where they had come from.

 _Why_ the items had been taken was basically a moot point as well at this juncture, but it was perfectly obvious to Jacoby what Pauly Denner had been up to. Not only had Pete been the subject of physical abuse at the hands of Denner and his goons – the mental images provided by Bennie Marconi's statements during interrogation remained with him constantly – he'd also been made to endure psychological abuse. Knowing Pete, and knowing the subject of that abuse – who the perfume, the hankie, the music were associated with – it had been worse on him than the beatings. With that thought in mind Jacoby turned back to the filing cabinet and removed the photo of Edie Hart from the evidence bag, placing it on the desk next to the other items. He wondered how the bloodstains had gotten onto the photo, as the only other blood evidence the lab boys were able to find at the scene was that small amount on the handcuffs. Bennie Marconi hadn't made mention of the psychological aspect so that might have been something Denner was doing on his own. Probably more fun that way. Or maybe he had help from the other guy, Charlie Malloy.

Jacoby had spoken with Marconi upon returning to the precinct house earlier, rousting him from sleep in his jail cell. The man had been unable to tell him much more than he already knew. Except that Pauly Denner was a creature of habit, whatever that meant. And that Charlie Malloy, who was most probably still helping Denner, was a man who didn't like to be messed with, was a man who tended to go overboard rather than rein himself in. He'd been that way as long as Marconi had known him, which was since boyhood. Sometimes that trait came in handy in their line of business, at other times it was a hindrance. Apparently it had been the latter where Peter Gunn was concerned. According to Marconi, if you told Malloy to punch somebody once he'd most likely hit him four or five times. "He has anger issues," Marconi had said. Apparently Malloy had taken some of those issues out on Pete. Remembering the empty garage at the house on Idlwood, Jacoby had thought to ask Marconi about transportation. He was told that there had been two automobiles at the house, a 1954 blue on blue Buick Roadmaster and a black Plymouth sedan, he wasn't sure of the year on that one. The Roadmaster had stolen plates, again he wasn't sure on the Plymouth.

Lieutenant Jacoby leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping nervously on the desktop as he continued to stare at the items on his desk. He fingered the lacy handkerchief and the small container of perfume. Opened a desk drawer and retrieved the covers for the two LPs and slid them home. Pulled Peter Gunn's key ring from his pocket and silently studied those keys he both could and couldn't identify. Placing them on the desk he picked up the photograph of the woman. He looked at it for a while as he slowly came to a decision. Then he reached into his back pocket for his wallet and placed the photo inside before replacing the wallet. Standing, he rolled down his shirt sleeves and donned his tie and suit jacket and overcoat. He dropped the key ring, perfume and handkerchief into the side pocket of his jacket, grabbed the LPs, stuck his hat on his head and walked out of the office.

* * *

This time when Jacoby rang the buzzer the door was opened by Mother. It was the first time anyone other than Edie had let him into Pete's apartment. On one hand he wasn't exactly thrilled to see the woman, knowing without having to be told that she blamed him in part for Pete's disappearance and the Police Department as a whole for letting the situation go on as long as it had without finding him. On the other hand he was glad that someone else was here for this particular visit. He had a feeling Edie was going to need and want someone other than him to lean on after he said what he had come to say. The woman who stood aside for him to enter must have noticed his subdued attitude as she simply took one look at him before motioning with her head toward the living room.

"Edie's upstairs getting dressed. She should be down in a few minutes." It was a little after nine in the morning on the seventh day of Peter Gunn's disappearance. "We just finished breakfast. There's some coffee left." It was an offer of sorts.

Jacoby shook his head.

"No thanks. I'll just sit down and wait if that's all right."

Mother shrugged and looked curiously at the LPs the policeman held in his hand. Then she watched as he slowly walked into the living room, placed the records on the coffee table, divested himself of his overcoat and laid it and his hat on the back of a chair near the fireplace and then very wearily sat down in the chair across from the couch. When Edie came quickly down the stairs about two minutes later Mother was still standing in the same spot and was still looking at Jacoby.

"Who-?"

Mother simply nodded toward the policeman, an indecipherable expression on her face, then slowly followed along behind the younger woman as Edie walked into the living room. The very first thing Edie noticed, other than the man in the chair, were the record jackets lying on the table. She picked them up, intent on returning them to their location next to the record player. She was made aware that the LPs had found their way back to the jackets as one began to slip out. She caught it before it was half way out, stared at it for a minute, checked the other jacket then lifted her gaze to Jacoby.

"Where did you find these?" Her heart was beating so fast and so hard that she knew it must be apparent to both Jacoby and Mother, that the sound must be echoing throughout the apartment.

It took a moment for the policeman to answer and when he did it was without looking at her. Instead he stared at his hands clasped on his lap, thumbs gently tapping against each other.

"At a house we raided early this morning." He finally looked up, his eyes unreadable as he looked at the woman.

Edie's glance fell back to the albums then returned to Jacoby. Words formed on her lips several times before she finally got them out.

"Did you-" She stopped then tried again without any better success. "Pete-"

The policeman shook his head.

"Pete wasn't there," he quietly said. "According to our source he _was_ there, but by the time we were able to coordinate everything and get inside the place was empty."

"By the time-" The woman swallowed convulsively as she stared at Jacoby. "He was alive- Your person said he was alive?"

"Alive." The Lieutenant nodded reluctantly. "But not in good shape."

"But by the time-" Her jaw tightened and her lips trembled as she stared at the man who remained seated on the chair. "I don't understand. How much time could it take-" Edie glared, her fingers tightening desperately around the albums she still held at her side in one hand. "How long could it take if you knew-" She frowned almost helplessly. "How long did it take?"

Jacoby pushed himself to his feet but kept the coffee table between himself and the very distraught woman. He had a feeling things were about to get out of hand.

"Look, Edie. You have to understand-"

"How long?" There was a look in her eyes he'd never seen before. Overwrought. Frantic.

"From the time we had our source in custody- half a day maybe." Even he could hear the hollowness in his voice. "From the time he was finally willing to talk- too long." Jacoby gave an ambiguous shrug. "Hours," he admitted.

"And now?"

"And now-" Jacoby lifted his chin and heaved a deep sigh. "Now Denner knows we're getting closer, he knows we have a source of information that can help us tie him to Pete and he's probably starting to worry a little bit. He's probably ready to cut his losses and find some nice secure out of the way place where he can hunker down for a while. If he hasn't already." He didn't come right out and say what he meant in so many words, he didn't want to, but he figured Edie could translate what he was talking about. The way the record albums came abruptly flying at him gave him the first clue that she had done just that. Luckily for him they moved awkwardly through the air, hitting the side of the coffee table and coming apart on the floor as he quickly stepped out of the line of fire.

"Why do you keep doing this?" the woman demanded, her words rough and low. There was a quality to her voice that caused Mother to step up next to her, one hand going to Edie's left shoulder, the other grasping her right hand.

"Edie-" Jacoby held up a placating hand but was ignored.

"When Pete disappeared you said that everything would be all right, you _promised_ you'd find him. Then you told me that the more time that went by the less likely it was you'd find him alive. That he might already be dead." Her breath was coming faster as she became more agitated and frustrated with the man standing a few feet from her. "Now you come here and tell me that Pete was alive yesterday and that you knew where he was but you wasted your time getting to him," the rage was evident in her words, "and in the same breath basically admit that he's probably dead!" Her hand tightened on Mother's and the older woman pulled her closer. "How am I supposed to believe _anything_ you say when you can't even do your job-"

Her words came to an abrupt halt as the policeman reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out several items and dropped one of them onto the coffee table. Edie recognized her handkerchief immediately and then watched as Jacoby placed a small vial of perfume atop the hankie. She stared at them and began to slowly shake her head.

"These were found at the same time as the records," Jacoby quietly said, nodding toward the LPs on the floor. He took the key ring from his pocket and quietly placed it on the table next to the other items. "So were Pete's keys," he said. "Along with a few other things – his weapon, his wallet, some other stuff he usually carried around with him, some items he was wearing-"

"Carries," Edie interjected. Jacoby gave her a puzzled look. "You said carried."

"Carries," he corrected, giving a slight nod. He started to say something further but stopped himself as he saw the woman raise a hand to her mouth and sudden tears began to run down her face. With a choked sob she tore herself away from Mother's loose embrace and ran quickly across the room and up the stairs. Jacoby felt the heat of Mother's fierce gaze.

"Did you have to do that?" the old woman growled. "Couldn't you just leave her with a little hope? Leave us _all_ with some hope?"

Jacoby rubbed a hand down his face, not offering up an answer to that question. After a moment his eyes met Mother's.

"The other day Edie wanted to phone Pete's Dad. I talked her out of it at the time. If you can get me his number I'll call him and let him know what's been happening."

Mother gave him a look that clearly told him he was an idiot and shook her head. Why on earth would he have done something like that?

"I'll talk to Edie and we'll call him. She's only spoken with him over the phone but I've met him a couple times when he's come to town to visit Pete. I think we'll be able to take care of that ourselves." With that she turned away from him and headed slowly upstairs.

* * *

Lieutenant Jacoby sat in his car for over an hour after leaving Edie and Mother, parked at the curb almost directly behind the unmarked surveillance car. He hated what he had done in the apartment, how he had handled himself, but he hadn't known what else to do. At this point, after the events of the past twenty-four hours, his best guess was that Peter Gunn was dead. That he'd been killed after Bennie Marconi was taken into custody and that his body had been dumped into the river. Only time would tell. The old river kept some secrets longer than others. Some it never gave up. Meanwhile his thoughts kept going back to something Marconi had said the last time they had spoken. Pauly Denner was a creature of habit. Those were his exact words. _A_ _creature of habit._ Jacoby hit the button on his two-way radio and asked to be transferred to Sergeant Davis.


	12. Chapter 12

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

She lost her breakfast in the toilet, kneeling against the ceramic bowl and vomiting until nothing more would come up, until nothing more than dry heaves pulled tightly at her insides. Or so she thought. She flushed and leaned back against the cold tile wall between the tub and the toilet, only to be quickly called back to relieve herself of whatever little bit still remained in her stomach. Another flush and this time she fell backwards into the corner, looping her arms around her drawn-up knees and leaning her head back against the ceramic tiles, eyes shut, not enough strength left within her to move any further. That's the way Mother found her, the older woman shoving a glass into her hand and forcing her to rinse and spit and drink a little water. She hung on to the side of the toilet, her face pale and beaded with perspiration, uncertain whether those few sips would have her heaving again. Mother very gingerly lowered her lanky frame to the side of the tub, her fingers gently combing the hair away from Edie's face. The younger woman's head slipped sideways to rest on Mother's knee, her unfocused gaze resting on the opposite wall. For a while neither woman spoke.

"I never knew I could feel like this," Edie finally said, her voice clawing its way up past her sore throat and dry lips.

"Like what, honey?" Mother rearranged her long legs awkwardly, her dress pinching at her sides, the hard edge of the tub uncomfortable beneath her ample bottom.

"Like there's no meaning in my life anymore," she answered. "I love him so much."

"I know you do."

"I hope Pete knows."

"Of course he does, " Mother patted her knee reassuringly. "He knows. And he loves you. I've never seen a man in love with a woman as much as he is with you."

Mother brushed a few more stray wisps of soft honey-colored hair away from the younger woman's face, the perspiration having left them sticking to her cheeks and forehead, then pushed herself to her feet and grasped Edie's hand and pulled her up from the floor. Guiding her into the bedroom, she sat them both down against the wooden headboard of the unmade bed, moving the covers up and tucking them around Edie's waist. The two women sat in silence, consumed with their own private thoughts.

Edie's gaze moved around the bedroom, landing here and there, touching on objects and clothing and furniture. Pete's apartment was almost more of a home to her than her own and no words could describe how she had missed it over the last three months, especially this room. She couldn't count the times she had lain with him in this very bed, making love, talking about each others day, making out, laughing and teasing, discussing the future, sleeping and waking next to each other. She wanted that back. She wanted Pete back and their life back and she knew with a sudden heartfelt certainty that he _would_ be back and nothing that Jacoby or anyone else could say would shake that belief.

* * *

Sergeant Lee Davis heaved a tired sigh and slowly closed the folder he'd been perusing for the past fifteen minutes. Much like Lieutenant Jacoby and Detective Harmon, he was not exactly certain what type of information he was looking for in the stack of files they were searching through. His boss seemed to think whatever it was would just jump out from the pages of one of these manila folders, yelling _Here I am! Look at me! I'm the answer to all your questions!_ , but he himself wasn't so sure. If you didn't know what it was you were looking for then how would you know what it was when you saw it? So Pauly Denner was a creature of habit. So what? Wasn't everybody?

"Tell me again why we're doing this, Lieutenant?"

Davis grabbed another file folder and flipped it open, his eyes blindly noting names and dates and arrest records and known criminal relationships. If some great revelation was supposed to stare glaringly back at him it didn't. And it hadn't done so for the other several dozen files he'd examined thus far. Denner had been small pickings early in his criminal career. They had started with that time period and were slowly working their way forward to the conviction that had sent Denner to prison six years earlier. When Davis didn't receive an answer, which he figured he wouldn't, he directed his dark gaze across the long table to the two other men who had their own heads bent over files. He continued to voice his thoughts out loud.

"No matter which way you look at it, the only common denominators so far in this investigation are Paul Denner, Eleanora White and Peter Gunn. Everything points right back to that case. We all knew Denner killed the White girl but we couldn't prove it. Pete came up with enough evidence on other counts to get Denner prison time. Denner was released from prison and came after Pete for revenge just like he said he would." Finished with the file he was looking at, Davis slapped it shut and dropped it on the 'done' pile. "You know, looking back on it, the only thing we really never found out during that case was where the girl was for that week between her disappearance and when her body was found," he mused. He, just like so many others, found it difficult not to rehash the case in his mind whenever his thoughts drifted in that direction. And they'd been going there a lot lately.

Silence reigned as the three men continued their seemingly mindless routine. Then Jacoby slowly raised his head and stared at Davis, his forehead puckered in a frown.

"Say that again?"

Davis and Harmon both looked up, Harmon following Jacoby's gaze, Davis shifting his own gaze between his two superiors.

"Lieutenant?"

"What you just said. About what we never found out?" Jacoby prompted.

Davis shrugged and replayed his words in his head.

"The only thing we never found out was where the girl was for the week between her disappearance and when her body was found."

Detective Harmon puckered his lips as he tossed several files aside. He thoughtfully rubbed at the graying stubble on his chin as he sat back in his hard wooden chair, lines creasing his own forehead as he considered what Davis had said. His eyebrows slowly rose as he stared into space, his eyes unblinking, the wheels in his head spinning as his thoughts drifted back six years. He leaned further back, bringing his hands behind his head and lacing his fingers together, his chair teetering on its back legs.

"You're right. That was the main reason we couldn't come up with enough evidence to prove Denner's guilt to a judge or jury. He had an airtight alibi of some sort for every hour of every day that girl was missing. We were never able to place him anywhere beyond where those alibis put him." His chair dropped back into place and his arms fell to the table, his hands clasping together on the hard surface as his thick brows drew together. "She had to be somewhere."

"A creature of habit. That's how Bennie Marconi described Denner." Jacoby looked thoughtfully at the several piles of folders scattered about. He quickly began grabbing them and redistributing them among himself and the other two men. "We need to go through everything again. I think I know what we're looking for."

* * *

Edie Hart listened to the silence on the other end of the phone line. Not quite a complete silence. A low buzzing tickled along the wires, letting her know that the line was open, that the perceived silence was there simply because no one was speaking. Edie couldn't talk because the tears wouldn't stop falling. She was afraid of what the man would hear in her voice if she tried to say anything further. Frank Gunn – Francis Patrick, named for his Irish father's side of the family – _wouldn't_ talk because he was honestly afraid he might say something he would never be able to take back. Would utter words he would later regret. He was angry. Angry that it had taken a week for someone to notify him of the disappearance of his only child. He was scared. Scared of the possibility that he might never see his son again. He was overwhelmed with raw emotions that he couldn't define and wouldn't define because he was afraid they would explode against the woman who had called him. This woman that he had never met but who his son loved. So the silence continued.

Edie swiped ineffectively at the tears coursing down her cheeks and glanced at Mother. The older woman raised her eyebrows and reached out, silently offering to take over the conversation and relieve the younger woman of the burden of trying to communicate with the man who sat by himself almost a thousand miles away, silently attempting to come to grips with what he'd been told. Edie shook her head, resolutely accepting the responsibility to handle things herself. Her fingers were white where they gripped the telephone receiver. She held it tightly against her ear, straining to listen lest she miss anything Pete's father might say. Pop. That's what Pete called him. He had laughingly told her to call him that once when they had talked on the phone. She'd never had the courage to do so but somehow wished she had. Maybe it would have made things easier now.

"I'll be on the next plane I can get a seat on." The man's emotionless, taciturn voice finally broke the strained silence. "It may be a while. We've had storms and fog and flights have been grounded on and off for the past few days. I'll sit at the airport until I can get something. How can I contact you when I know my schedule?" His frustrated sigh tumbled along the line.

Edie took a deep breath and rubbed at her eyes in an attempt to compose herself. She had to swallow past a thick lump in her throat before she could get any words out in response to his question.

"I'm at Pete's," she finally got her voice to work after making several attempts to say something. "Or you can call _Mother's_. Talk to whoever answers the phone. I'll make sure they know where I am if I'm not here." She started to give him the number for the club but he interrupted, telling her he already had it, and she nodded silently into the telephone even though he couldn't see her.

"I'll call when I know something."

There was a brief moment of silence then a click across the distance as the man hung up. Edie continued to hold the receiver to her ear for several seconds, hoping that maybe the click had just been a noise along the wires, before slowly lowering it and releasing it into the telephone cradle as the normal hum of an unused line returned. After that she sat and stared at the phone for a long minute, thinking perhaps they'd been disconnected due to the weather Frank Gunn had mentioned, hoping the phone would ring and it would be him calling back. But it didn't. She leaned back against the cushion of the couch and closed her eyes tiredly, feeling Mother take her hand into her own warm one and giving it a comforting squeeze.

"He's just upset, honey."

"I know," the young woman nodded. "I should have called him sooner."

"Did he say that?"

"He didn't have to. I heard it loud and clear in what he didn't say." She opened her eyes and gave a choked and watery laugh. "Just like Pete." Edie repeated what the man had said about rain and fog and grounded flights. "He said he'll call when he has a flight and then he hung up. He wasn't just upset. He was angry."

* * *

Back and forth. Back and forth. Paul Denner restlessly paced the hard floor. He smiled to himself. It was funny really. Here he was. Here _they_ were. Him and Peter Gunn. And Charlie Malloy, keeping watch through the slatted front window. Not that Malloy really mattered. Only Gunn mattered in the grand scheme of things. Fading orange streaks of sunlight reflected off of other buildings and bounced back through the window, glancing off of Denner's scuffed black shoes as he walked. They hadn't been shined in at least a couple of days. There hadn't been time. And again, not something that really mattered at this juncture. Why care what your shoes looked like when your greatest desire was about to be fulfilled? When an outcome that you'd waited six years to accomplish was within striking distance?

Denner paused in his pacing long enough to check the cylinder of the small snub-nosed revolver he held in his right hand. Six bullets in the chamber. He would only need one. That's all it took to kill a man if you did it right. Place the barrel against his temple or up above his ear and pull the trigger. Stand back so the spatter, if there was any, didn't get all over your hands and clothes. He glanced across at the black Plymouth sedan. The trunk was standing open. Gunn was still alive but barely. The man was hanging on by a thread. He had to give him begrudging credit for that, for hanging on for as long as he had, longer than most men he had observed under similar circumstances. But soon even that thread would be gone. Unraveling until it snapped. At just the right moment. A moment that had been long in arriving and that Denner planned to savor to the utmost.


	13. Chapter 13

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

Things had quite suddenly come full circle in a manner that Lieutenant Jacoby could never have envisioned. They were right back where this whole mess had started, in the middle of the rundown warehouse district along the waterfront, mere blocks away from where Peter Gunn had met with those two hoods on that eventful night just over one week ago. Eight days to be exact, if you considered a few minutes past midnight another day. On the night in question he and his men had conducted a thorough search of the area immediate to where the detective had disappeared but had come up empty. Nothing in the ensuing investigation had pointed toward any connection at all between the man's abduction and the area in which it had taken place. Now they knew better. The files that he and Sergeant Davis and Detective Harmon had meticulously reviewed over the past several hours had directed them right back to the waterfront, to a small warehouse that was owned by none other than Pauly Denner's old buddy Joe DeVito. The very same Joe DeVito that had been one of Denner's many alibis during the Eleanora White murder case six years previously. Jacoby, Davis and Harmon had made tracks to the district immediately upon discovering the connection, the Lieutenant having no desire to make the same mistake he had made yesterday on the off chance that Peter Gunn might still be alive and might be in that warehouse. The same warehouse where the White girl had probably been hidden six years ago during that week before her body was found. Joe DeVito was under constant surveillance and would eventually be picked up by the team covering him. That was Jacoby's call to make and he didn't want to jump the gun, not with Pete's life possibly hanging in the balance. He was buoyed by one good thought. Perhaps Eleanora White's parents would get justice after all.

Pale light leaked from the lone window at the front of the building. Wooden slats had been nailed across the outside of the window sometime in the past, the boards and the spaces in between evenly measured to give the window a cover from vandalism yet still allow an individual to see in or out. The shadowy outline of a person was visible against the inside of the window, shifting occasionally to give the impression of a large man who was apparently acting as a lookout. Undoubtedly Charlie Malloy. They wouldn't be getting in that way. Jacoby crept back into the shadows of the nearby awning where Davis and Harmon were waiting. Following a brief whispered conversation the three men moved stealthily around several small outbuildings, eventually finding themselves behind the warehouse that they were convinced held their quarry. And perhaps an even greater treasure. At least the hope was still alive. The hope Jacoby hadn't afforded Edie Hart.

The men moved silently along the outer wall of the building, quickly finding themselves outside a loading door large enough for delivery tricks to drive in and out of to pick up and unload freight. At first glance it appeared the door was of one piece and moved on rollers to one side or the other to allow trucks to enter or exit. But upon closer inspection it became obvious that what had appeared during their approach to be one solid door was in fact a double door which pulled to the center from each side. The two halves of the door fit perfectly against the building on each side, but where they came together in the middle they were slightly warped. The doors fit pretty well together until about a fourth of the way up, at which point a space appeared which grew to about half an inch as it reached eye level and expanded to probably an inch and a quarter toward the very top of the opening. As their eyes adjusted to the outside lighting, which wasn't much, the three men could make out the dim strip of light which fell from the crack.

Jacoby leaned in, doing everything he could not to make any noise, and placed his face as close as possible to the space between the two doors. Once again he had to wait for his eyes to become accustomed to the lighting. As they did adjust he carefully shifted his gaze back and forth, trying to get a good view of the inside of the warehouse. He could see the big man up front, sitting on a chair by the window, his attention intermittently shifting between the outside world and something that was going on inside the building just outside of Jacoby's line of sight. The man had a weapon but it was lying on the narrow window sill about a foot away him. Jacoby muttered a silent curse and quietly stepped back, motioning to the taller Detective Harmon to take his place. Harmon shifted sideways as he stared through the opening so that he had an expanded view. He stared and squinted to see as much as possible, standing perfectly still and barely breathing as Paul Denner came into view.

"Oh my God." Harmon's drawn out whisper had Jacoby clawing at his shoulder.

"What do you see?" Jacoby whispered back, his lips barely moving.

Harmon held up a hand to silence the Lieutenant and then continued to watch what was happening inside. Paul Denner was pacing back and forth. He held a small snub-nosed revolver in his right hand. Every so often he glanced at his weapon and then shifted his gaze somewhere to what was Harmon's left as he stared through the opening. Harmon shifted a little bit more, moving slightly to one side and tipping his head. He saw a big automobile parked several yards away from Denner. The trunk was standing open.

"Denner," Harmon finally whispered. "He's carrying a piece. There's a black Plymouth sedan, looks like a '53, with the lid open."

He squinted again, staring at the rear of the car, attempting to conjure a clear image from what the shadows of the warehouse and the car itself were hiding. The Plymouth was black, the inside of the trunk was dark gray or black. A tiny shaft of light struck a mud covered back bumper, casting the barest bit of illumination upward from one of the very few clean spots on the chrome. It didn't help much. A patch of white? Was that a small patch of white against the darkness inside the trunk? And maybe a darker black against the dark interior? Or perhaps he was just seeing things. Things his mind was telling his brain he wanted to see. Or maybe not. He blinked his eyes, held them tightly shut for a few seconds, returned his gaze to the trunk of the car. It was. It had to be. Why else would Denner have the gun in his hand, why else would he continually look at the car?

"Our boy's in the trunk." He glanced back at Jacoby and Davis. "Pete," he clarified.

* * *

Mother sat on the couch, pretending to read a magazine but really just keeping an eye on the young woman who stood at the patio door staring out into the dark night. The only light visible was that from the street lights and window lights along the waterfront on the other side of the big river. Some were reflected off the water itself, giving a hazy glow that would seem romantic under any other circumstances. It was a view that Edie Hart normally appreciated, one that she had often gazed upon during slow and easy evenings with Peter Gunn. This early, early morning it just brought a chill to her soul. Mother gave a deep sigh and looked at the magazine again. She stared at the words and pictures and realized she didn't even know what magazine it was that she was pretending to read. She flipped it over to get a look at the cover. _Sport_. With a picture of some baseball player with a blond crew cut on the front. She dropped it on the end table and picked up another from the neat stack of four or five. _McCall's_. That was better. As long as she didn't ask herself why Pete was subscribed to _McCall's_. As long as it wasn't for the little Betsy McCall paper doll cutouts she guessed it was an okay magazine for the man. She flipped through the pages absently, glancing occasionally at Edie, wishing the girl would either go to bed or sit down. She'd been antsy ever since that conversation with Pete's dad. That man was a fool if he was placing the blame for not being informed about his son's disappearance on Edie. And she'd tell him that in no uncertain terms once he arrived. Meanwhile something needed to be done about the girl's restlessness.

"Did I tell you about the dream I had the other night?"

Mother finally broke the silence. Of course she hadn't mentioned the dream to Edie. She would have remembered if she had. She was over sixty but she wasn't that far gone. She was just tired of the quiet from this girl who was always so happy and sunny, though not so much so since her split with the detective. If there was anything good at all that would come from this situation it would be seeing those two back together. Mother knew they were both ready. More than ready. Pete since the night the breakup had occurred, Edie too for that matter. She had just been too stubborn to seek Pete out afterwards. And the PI had been unwilling to push the issue with her, afraid he might do irreparable harm to the relationship if he did. Of course any reconciliation was totally dependent on Pete managing to keep himself alive. And that was the question of the hour. They just needed to keep thinking that good thought.

Edie turned away from her absorption with what was going on outside and gave her attention to the woman she not only worked for but considered a friend. Mother was a rough and tumble mother figure not only to her but to most of those who worked at the jazz club. And probably most importantly to Pete. She filled a void in his life that very few people realized. And Edie loved the older woman for that if for no other reason.

"No," Edie pulled at the bottom of her shirt and clasped her hands in front of her as she looked at Mother. "I guess not. What kind of dream?" Her mind had been occupied with thoughts of nothing but Pete all night and it was difficult to turn her attention to anything else but she made the attempt.

Mother lay her magazine on the cushion beside her and leaned forward, her hands on her knees, a conspiratorial expression on her face. Her long dangly earrings almost brushed the shoulders of her dark blue and gold dress and the portions of her stockings visible as she sat there were exhibiting end of the day wrinkles. She was tired and looked tired.

"I dreamed I found the house where that Denner man was hiding Pete!" she exclaimed as only Mother was capable. "I sneaked inside and cornered the dirty rotten scoundrel!" She slapped the arm of the couch for emphasis.

"Mother-" Edie tried to protest, not sure she wanted to hear this.

"Well it's more than Jacoby and his bumbling band of Keystone Cops was able to do!"

Mother was not a happy woman when it came to the Lieutenant. The only person more unhappy was undoubtedly Edie herself. Edie couldn't help but smile a little at the older woman's exuberance in relating her dream and at her description of Jacoby.

"So then what happened?" Edie reluctantly encouraged.

"Like I said, I cornered him. And do you know what I told him?"

Edie shook her head and raised her eyebrows.

"I told that heathen that if he didn't let Pete go, right then and there, I'd beat him to death with my bare hands!"

Mother stood up and shook her fists as she recounted her dream-inspired actions. Edie couldn't help but laugh out loud. She covered her mouth with her hands as she tried to control herself, finally calming down enough to get a few words out.

"Then what happened?" she asked for a second time.

"What do you think happened? He let Pete go, that's what happened." She gave Edie a smug smile and a wink. "Then I beat the crap out of him!"

Mother's smile grew as Edie began to laugh so hard that tears were running down her face. She swiped at them with her hands and tried to choke back the laughter but couldn't. Mother joined in with joyous hilarity, grabbing the younger woman and pulling her close as they both released their pent up emotions. Anyone watching would have undoubtedly come to the conclusion that the two women had finally cracked up. And perhaps in a way they had. When both women finally were able to regain control of themselves the older one pulled back and looked at the younger. The tears were still streaming down Edie's cheeks though not for the sake of the joke. These were tears of sorrow. Mother reached out and ran a hand through the girl's soft curls.

"Honey, why don't you go to bed and get some sleep?"

"I can't." Edie shook her head.

"Why not?' Mother pulled her close again, allowing the young woman's head to rest on her shoulder.

"Because when I sleep I have dreams too," Edie said in a voice so soft Mother had to strain to hear her. "And my dreams don't have happy endings like yours do."

* * *

There was one question and one only that made any difference at this point. How were the three of them going to get into the warehouse without getting Pete killed? If it wasn't already too late for that. It had been eight days. From Bennie Marconi's statement they knew Pete was already in extremely bad shape. If Jacoby was honest with himself he had already convinced himself and everyone else who mattered that Pete was dead three times over at least. If he wasn't lying already dead in the trunk of that Plymouth he would most certainly be dead within a very short time, whether from injuries he had already received or by a bullet from the gun in Paul Denner's hand. Jacoby glanced from Harmon to Davis. He could tell from their expressions that the same thoughts were going through their heads. The only option they had was the option of hope. Hope that Pete was still alive. Hope that the set of double doors leading into the warehouse wasn't locked down. Hope that they could take out Denner and Malloy before either one of them could get off a shot at the man in the trunk of the Plymouth. That was a lot of hope. Jacoby didn't know if there was enough grace left in the world to answer those hopes. But they weren't going down without a fight. He reached inside his jacket for his .38 Police Special and motioned toward his companions to take their positions against the doors. He said a prayer. And then he gave a slow nod of silent assent to Davis and Harmon.

 _(A special shout out goes to Melchy for dreaming the dream! It was just the right bit of humor needed to help relieve the tension for Edie and Mother.)_


	14. Chapter 14

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

During the ensuing days Jacoby would say that it had been like something straight out of the movies. Any time he had to explain, every time someone asked, it was the only way he could describe what happened that eerie early morning in an old warehouse in the derelict waterfront district of their fair city. The entire episode was strictly _film_ _noir_ instead of _True_ _Detective_. There was no other way to paint it. The big loading doors slid open almost noiselessly, a low rusty squeak less of a giveaway to Pauly Denner than the sight of the big man up front making a fumbling grab for his revolver and aiming it toward the three policeman before he was cut down by a bullet from Detective Harmon's service revolver. Denner had just turned in his restless pacing, the expression on his face priceless as he found himself staring straight into the faces of three policemen and down the barrels of their weapons. Realizing he was inconceivably doomed, his final earthly action was to swing his arm sideways and release a rapid succession of gunshots in the direction of the idle Plymouth as he was simultaneously hit by a hail of gunfire from Jacoby and Davis. Denner was slammed backwards then slowly fell to his knees before ending up prone on the dirt and gravel floor of the warehouse, his lifeless body twisted grotesquely as he fell backwards on still bent knees. The echoing pings of the bullets from Denner's gun as they hit along the broad side of the old car, the whooshing noise as one tire was punctured, would probably remain with Jacoby for the remainder of his life.

After that events seemed to move in a surreal manner. Jacoby rushed to the Plymouth, his hands grasping at the edges of the open trunk, his vision blurring as for the first time in eight days his eyes landed on the familiar face of his friend, his confidant, the man who was in many ways like a pesky kid brother to him. A battered face sporting a week's growth of stubble but the face of Peter Gunn nonetheless. Jacoby's hand went to Pete's neck, his fingers searching desperately for a pulse as he yelled for Lee Davis to get back to the squad car and radio for an ambulance and crime scene backup. His fingers slid to the other side of Pete's windpipe as they continued to dig for a pulse with no result. _Come on, come on, be there._ The man's skin was pale and clammy. He lay half on his side, half on his back, his six foot two frame curled into the cramped space. His once pristinely white Brooks Brothers dress shirt was filthy, marred by dirt, scuff marks and smears of dried blood. His black pants were streaked with dirt, small bits of gravel clinging to the fine fabric, any possible blood stains invisible against the dark material. Cuts and abrasions and bruises covered bis face beneath the stubble and around both eyes. There was a gash on his bottom lip that looked like it had been reopened several times. Jacoby felt rather than saw Detective Harmon appear at his side and he motioned for help in getting the PI's lanky body out of the narrow space of the trunk. They had him awkwardly moved to the ground in a few moments and Jacoby was once again attempting to locate a pulse when he was elbowed roughly aside by Sergeant Davis, out of breath from his dash to the squad car and back.

"Army medic, remember?" He took over Jacoby's search. "Ambulance is on the way." Davis leaned closer, barely aware of the gravel digging into his knees, his head against Pete's chest as he concentrated not only on locating a pulse but listening and feeling for a heartbeat or a breath. "Come on Pete, give me _some_ thing... _anything_ ," he murmured, his soft voice at odds with the growling siren of the approaching ambulance. He grasped the front of the detective's shirt and pulled to release the buttons then ripped open the collar of his undershirt and placed his ear directly on the skin of his chest.

Detective Harmon silently stood and made his way outside to flag down the ambulance and direct the driver to the back of the building, quickly leading the two attendants into the warehouse. Davis glanced up and then lifted his head and moved his fingers away from Pete's neck.

"There's a heartbeat, but barely," he said. "Just a tickle, and I couldn't get a pulse at all."

One of the attendants nodded and knelt next to the man lying on the ground, personally feeling for a pulse and checking pupil reaction as Jacoby helped the other remove a stretcher from the back of the ambulance. Pete was gently lifted onto the stretcher by the two attendants, Sergeant Davis and Detective Harmon as the Lieutenant looked on. One of the attendants slid back into the driver's seat while Jacoby joined the second in the back of the ambulance. He turned to Davis and Harmon just before the doors were shut.

"Hey, Lee. After the crime scene unit arrives follow me to St. Francis." Davis nodded at his superior's soft words and Jacoby looked at Harmon. "You get the crime scene boys started and then check with DeVito's surveillance. I want him picked up." Another nod.

The ambulance doors were pushed shut and secured and the vehicle slowly pulled away. The siren screamed in Jacoby's head as the ambulance raced along the almost deserted streets of the waterfront district before eventually veering onto Main Street for the quick trip to the center of town. He watched the attendant go about his business, wishing the man had the ability to do more for his friend. But he was just an ambulance attendant, not a doctor. He and his partner picked up the injured and got them to the hospital, they didn't practice medicine. Maybe one day that would change, Jacoby thought. Perhaps some day in the future the men working the ambulance shifts at the hospital would be trained to provide basic medical treatment to the folks they transported, giving them that much more of a chance for survival. Unfortunately that wasn't the way things worked nowadays. Pete would have to hang on until they arrived at the hospital's emergency department to receive the treatment he needed. And even that might be too little too late.

Jacoby crawled from the back of the ambulance the moment the doors were pulled open from the outside, grasping one side of the stretcher, helping the attendant lift it from the vehicle into the waiting hands of the emergency department personnel. He ran beside them as they rushed his friend into the small room, watched as they quickly removed clothing in search of less obvious injury and checked vitals, turned his head and closed his eyes at the sight of the visible bruising on Pete's chest and ribs and sides, protested when the doctor on duty told him he had to leave the room, sat slumped in a chair in the waiting room for an indeterminable amount of time until suddenly Sergeant Davis was standing in front of him.

"How is he?" Davis asked quietly.

He removed his cap and held it in both hands as he watched his boss and waited for an answer. Jacoby looked at him for a few seconds before straightening in his chair and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, staring at the floor. He shook his head slowly and said nothing for a moment, leaving Davis fearing the worst, before dropping backwards in the chair and looking up again.

"I haven't heard anything," he glanced at the clock high up on the opposite wall. "It's been about thirty minutes since they booted me out of the room."

"I guess that's a good thing, right? Otherwise someone would've come out and..." His voice trailed off.

"Yes, maybe." Jacoby quietly agreed with him before looking at the clock again. It was after two in the morning. His eyes went back to Davis. "I need you to do something."

"Anything, Lieutenant."

"You say that now," Jacoby almost smiled as he gave a thankful nod. "I need you to head over to Pete's to pick up Edie and bring her to the hospital."

"Does she know...?" His voice trailed off again as Jacoby shook his head.

"It will take you about ten minutes to get there. I'll give you a few minutes head start and then I'll phone her to let her know we've got Pete and that you're on your way over there. That should give her time to get herself together and put on some clothes."

He watched Davis give a nod and put bis cap back on.

"You got it, Lieutenant." Davis turned around and was about half way to the door when Jacoby's voice stopped him.

"And Lee?" Davis turned. "Don't tell her anything about Pete. Okay? If she asks just tell her that he's at the hospital and that you don't have any more details. You'll be telling her the truth." Jacoby shrugged. "I just don't want her to have to know all the details until she's ready."

* * *

Mother jerked awake as if from a bad dream, eyes suddenly wide open as she glanced around, wondering for a brief moment where she was until reality quickly sank in. The strangely shrill ring of the telephone had her up out of the chair she'd fallen asleep in and grabbing for the receiver before it could ring again. She'd finally persuaded Edie to head upstairs to bed just about an hour ago and didn't want the phone to waken her. She had gone as far as removing the bedroom extension once the girl was actually in the bed to keep her from being disturbed, much to Edie's dissatisfaction. Mother glanced at the clock as she lifted the receiver to her ear, her heart in her throat. Who would be calling at this hour? Maybe Frank Gunn with news about his flight. As upset as he had been with Edie he might not take into consideration the time when calling back.

"Hello." She turned around and trained her eyes on the stairs, hoping the noise hadn't woken Edie if she was indeed asleep. Her concerns were answered when she saw Edie descending the steps, pulling a robe on over her pajamas. She forced her attention back to the phone as she heard a voice at the other end.

"Mother? It's Lieutenant Jacoby." She stilled at the sound of the policeman's voice and glanced at the clock again. Two forty-five. Nothing good could come from a call from the police at two forty-five in the morning. Mother knew that from experience. She tried to keep her face expressionless as Edie came to stand beside her.

"What is it?" She heard Jacoby sigh and then there was just a moment of silence across the line.

The policeman found it difficult to decide whether he should speak with Mother and give her the details he needed to impart since she was the person who had answered the telephone, or whether he should speak with Edie. He finally decided that he owed it to the lady to be up front with her.

"Is Edie somewhere close by?"

"Yes she is. Why?" The older woman shifted her eyes to Edie's questioning gaze.

"May I speak with her please?"

This time it was Mother's turn to sigh. Against her better judgment she handed Edie the receiver, keeping her presence as the younger woman accepted it almost reluctantly.

"Hello?" Edie kept eye contact with Mother as she answered.

"Edie, this is Lieutenant Jacoby." The man's voice was quiet and gentle, as gentle as she had ever heard it. "I want you to listen to me very carefully, all right?"

"All right." She concentrated on the sound of the policeman's voice, her eyes closing helplessly as she wondered what was coming. She felt Mother's hand on her arm, a soft touch from a woman hardened by life's experiences.

"Sergeant Davis is on his way over there. He should be arriving in just a few minutes." Jacoby paused as if waiting for her to say something then continued when she didn't respond. "Edie, did you hear what I just said?"

"Yes." She nodded, tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes. "Sergeant Davis is on his way over here." She felt the grip of Mother's fingers tighten.

"When he gets there you need to go with him. He's going to bring you to the hospital."

There was a palpable silence. Edie opened her eyes.

"What?" She was finally able to get the word out after several tries.

"Sergeant Davis is going to bring you to the hospital. If you're not dressed you need to get dressed, and then when Lee gets there you need to go with him." Another pause by Jacoby. "Edie, do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"I- You found him? You found Pete?" The tears had escaped and were running down the sides of her face.

A sudden soft knock on the door jerked Mother out of the stupor brought on by Edie's words. She hurried to open it, watching as Sergeant Davis stepped into the apartment, removing his cap respectfully as he did so. His dark eyes moved from the tall woman next to him to the blond woman with the telephone receiver held to her ear.

"He's alive?" Of course he was. He was at the hospital so he had to be alive. Otherwise he would be somewhere else. At that other place.

"Edie. Just come with Lee to the hospital. He's probably already on his way up to the apartment." He hoped she didn't notice that he didn't answer her question and that he didn't expound on Pete's condition.

"He's here," she told Jacoby, glancing at Lee Davis.

Edie held the receiver out as though offering it to the Sergeant, but it slipped from her suddenly lifeless fingers and dropped to the floor with a thud.

* * *

Edie Hart climbed the few steps leading to the wide front doors of St. Francis Hospital, holding her long raincoat closely around her with both hands, having not taken the time to button it after pulling it on over the pants and shirt she had quickly thrown on. Flashes of lightening in the distance and low rumbles of faraway thunder heralded another day of rain that just didn't seem to want to go away. Lee Davis held the door open and she stepped into the antiseptic smell of the building, her feet automatically taking her in the direction of the emergency department. She'd been around Peter Gunn long enough to know exactly where that was. She and Davis had to pass through the small waiting area just before the nurses station and that's where they found Jacoby still doing just that. Waiting. He ran tired hands over his tired face and stood up as they entered.

"Where is he?" Edie didn't wait for an answer as she moved toward the nurses station.

Jacoby reached out and gently took hold of her arm as she made to step past him. He didn't pull or push, just stopped her from going any further. She looked at him and the pain and fear in her eyes felt almost like a physical blow.

"He's back there with the doctors." He shook his head as Edie glanced toward the nurses station again. "They don't know anything either."

Jacoby's hand curved around her elbow and he led her to one of the small couches in the waiting room, one facing the nurses station and the door into the emergency department, helping her off with her coat and then settling down beside her. He glanced up at Lee Davis, who didn't seem certain about what he should do and appeared hesitant to ask.

"Thank you, Lee." He nodded toward an opposite chair. "You're welcome to stay."

Davis nodded his acceptance, divesting himself of his light jacket and cap and offering to run down some coffee, an offer which the Lieutenant gladly accepted. Jacoby leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at his clasped hands. After a moment or two he looked sideways at the woman beside him. Her eyes were trained on the emergency department door across the way. He broke the silence to ask why Mother hadn't come to the hospital and winced inwardly when Edie told him that she'd stayed behind to wait for Pete's dad to call back with his flight information. Not really knowing what to say to that he decided not to say anything, then looked up as Lee Davis reappeared with coffee. He gratefully accepted a cup and motioned for Davis to set another on the small table next to Edie.

He knew exactly when her gaze moved from the door opposite them to his face. For a very short while he tried to ignore it. Finally he leaned back in his chair and turned his face toward her, saw the questions in her eyes, wasn't exactly sure which ones he should answer. He took a tepid sip of coffee then lowered the cup to his lap, gripping it with both hands.

"We got lucky with some information we found," Jacoby finally sighed. He stared across at Lee Davis, not really certain how he could explain what had taken place, not sure he wanted to at this very moment. "Denner is dead." It was the only other thing he could think of to say, the only other thing that mattered. Except for Pete.

"That's not what I need to know."

That brought his gaze back to Edie. He knew exactly what she needed to know. He just didn't know how to say the words. He searched her face. Her blue eyes held a strength he had always known she possessed but that he had never seen this close up or for so long a period of time. A woman had to be strong to love a man like Peter Gunn, to share her life not just with him but with his profession and with the people and experiences that came with it. That strength would have to continue to carry her through. He decided that sometimes bluntness was the best option in the face of such strength.

"He was in very bad shape when we found him. We couldn't get a pulse. Lee finally got a heartbeat." Jacoby stared into his coffee cup. "It was the same when the emergency department doctors started working on him. No pulse but a faint heartbeat. I don't know any more than that because they ordered me out of the room." He paused and swallowed past a lump in his throat. "But I do know Pete's got a very big heart," he softly said.


	15. Chapter 15

**Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.**

The muffled sound of soft footfalls on the light blue linoleum floor brought Lieutenant Jacoby's chin up from where it had been resting against his chest. He straightened his slumped shoulders and pushed himself sluggishly to his feet as a fiftyish man dressed in medical garb approached the area of the small waiting room where he was sitting with Edie Hart. The policeman recognized the man as one of the emergency department physicians who had worked on Peter Gunn when he initially arrived at the hospital. Jacoby turned to Edie as she too stood up, his hand resting with silent reassurance at her back as the doctor stopped a few feet away.

"How is he?"

Jacoby's question was brusque but with an undertone of worry. He didn't like what he saw on the doctor's face. Years of firsthand experience had given him the ability to read expressions in these types of situations, to look beyond calm exteriors, compassionate eyes and deflecting words. The other man must have sensed this because he was direct and to the point in his answer.

"Not good."

Feeling Edie's sudden tenseness Jacoby quickly sat both of them back down, the doctor taking a seat on the edge of a chair directly across from them that had been vacated by Sergeant Davis about thirty minutes prior. Leaning forward a bit, hands clasped between his knees, he shifted his gaze from the policeman, who he remembered from earlier, to the young blond woman seated beside him. He introduced himself as Dr. Joe Carson. As he apprised them of Pete's condition his gray eyes tended to linger on the woman who Jacoby, sensing he'd been lax in his duties, introduced as "Miss Edie Hart, Mr. Gunn's..." he floundered for an almost imperceptible second, "...girlfriend," and cleared his throat. Girlfriend didn't sound quite the right word and he saw Edie roll her eyes a little at the doctor, who gave a quick smile and said he understood.

"We have Pete's condition stabilized for the moment but you need to be made aware that he's facing a number of issues, some that are relatively easy to manage and some that are much more complex. He has several broken ribs, some very severe chest and abdominal bruising and abrasions, facial bruising and cuts and lacerations. It looks like he's been pretty much knocked around." Carson shifted a bit more toward Edie as she sat at the edge of her seat, concentrating on every word the doctor was saying. He had a kind face, graying hair and a gravelly yet gentle voice. "Those are the types of things that, much as I hate to say it, we take care of on a regular basis and that we handle with relative ease. But when you start adding other issues to the list things aren't quite so simple anymore. And that's where we are with Pete right now."

The doctor stopped speaking for a moment and stared at the floor as he gathered his thoughts. Then he raised his head and continued.

"He has a serious concussion, just how serious we're not certain of at this point, but he's got quite a lump on the back of his head and some accompanying symptoms that are..." Carson paused to consider his words, "...that are worrisome. He's also suffering from dehydration. Add exposure to the mix, with all of the problems and possibilities that might entail, and you're looking at quite an uphill battle."

His gaze drifted to Edie again.

"I'm really very sorry that I don't have any positive news for you right now. But I do want you to know that we're taking very good care of him and that he's being kept as comfortable as possible."

"Where is he? I need to see him." Edie got to her feet, the men following suit.

"You'll be able to do that as soon as we get him moved to a permanent room. Right now he's still receiving emergency treatment and then he'll be taken upstairs for further x-rays to make sure we haven't missed anything and to hopefully get a better look at the head injury responsible for the concussion." The doctor hesitated at the determination he saw in this woman's eyes, his resistance to allowing her to see his patient wavering. He gave a sigh and shook his head, hoping to discourage her, yet also very aware of the grim reality that any personal contact she might be allowed could very well be the last she might ever have with the man. Life was short. It became even shorter when you were lying injured in a hospital bed. He continued in a softer tone. "You do realize he's pretty beat up? You might not want-"

"I need to see Pete. Please."

Carson was shaking his head no even as he acquiesced to the young woman's request. His steps were slow and measured as he guided her toward the door leading into the emergency department.

* * *

A dark-haired nurse dressed in a starched white uniform and a young doctor wearing a white medical coat that looked a couple sizes too big straightened from their positions as Dr. Carson appeared in the doorway of the small room. They spared a glance for the pretty woman with him as they continued to tend to the man on the hospital bed. An older nurse was busy making notations on a chart. Carson caught that woman's gaze as he gently touched Edie's arm and guided her into the room.

"Two minutes," the doctor quietly said, giving the face of his watch a tap with his index finger for emphasis. "Miss Hart has exactly two minutes with the patient before he goes upstairs."

Edie's gaze had gone immediately to the man lying on the narrow hospital bed. Several hospital-issue blankets covered most of his still form, tucked around him to provide extra warmth. The dark-haired nurse pulled the top portion of the sheet beneath them up to cover the upper half of the man's chest as she moved to one side, ostensibly to confer with the other nurse regarding the patient chart. The young doctor, most likely still an intern, merely stepped away from the bed to silently watch and keep an eye on the patient.

He was breathing. That was the very first thing Edie noticed as she moved to stand next to Pete. His face was bruised and his eyes were blackened and his lip was split and swollen and other damage was visible beneath the week's worth of dark stubble. But he was breathing. His chest was moving up and down with a gentle motion. She had seen his face beaten and bruised in the past, though not nearly as badly. But never had she seen him not breathing. And she wouldn't trade between the two. She would take him battered and bruised over not breathing any day of the week.

Reaching out one hand Edie let it hover just above the light blue of the blankets covering Pete's lower chest. She could feel the radiating warmth the blankets created, could feel the fuzz of the little fibers tickling her palm. Moving her hand upward she let it rest gently against his cheek. It was cooler to the touch but she could feel the life beneath her fingers, could feel against her wrist the small warm puff of air released each time he exhaled. His eyelashes lay in dark arcs against darker bruises, those lashes that she found so attractive and which lent such an innocence to his face when he slept. Edie reached beneath the blankets to find Pete's hand, lacing her fingers between his, taking joy in the familiarity of his skin against hers. A tender smile curved her lips, causing the older nurse to pause as she approached to let her know her time with the man was up. As a result the two minutes meted out to her became three minutes and then four, coming to an end only when Dr. Carson entered the room to find out what the holdup was and to subsequently usher her back into the waiting room.

Mother was sitting in the waiting room and Lieutenant Jacoby was gone. Edie glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost a quarter past seven in the morning. She looked at Mother with a question in her eyes. Jacoby had been called back to the station. Someone had been arrested and he was needed to lead the interrogation. Mother thought it might have something to do with Pete's case but couldn't be certain. The policeman had been tight lipped and just asked that she tell Edie he would return as soon as possible. Mother was there because she was tired of sitting around Pete's apartment wondering what was going on and waiting for news about the detective. And because she figured Edie could use the company. And because Frank Gunn had called back about an hour ago with his flight information. He would be there late tonight, close to midnight if his connection was on time. Mother asked about Pete and Edie told her what she could, all that she knew. That he was alive. And that someone would let her know what room he had been moved to once they were done taking more x-rays. Edie sat back down on the small couch next to the older woman, who had taken the seat vacated by Jacoby. And they waited together.

* * *

Joe DeVito had been detained, arrested and transported to the 13th Precinct. With Pauly Denner and Charlie Malloy both dead, taking what secrets they might have had to their graves, DeVito didn't appear concerned that the police had anything solid against him that would bring charges or that he could be held for very long without probable cause. His attorney was insistent that he be released immediately unless the department wanted to face the consequences of a false arrest lawsuit. What evidence did the police have that warranted his client's arrest? Lay it on the table or turn Mr. DeVito loose.

Lieutenant Jacoby laid it on the table. Pauly Denner was directly responsible for the abduction and attempted murder of Peter Gunn. Mr. Gunn was found, seriously injured, in the presence of Pauly Denner and one of his associates named Charlie Malloy, in the trunk of an automobile inside a warehouse owned by Joe DeVito. That in itself tied Joe DeVito to the Gunn case and warranted probable cause and legal detention.

Neither DeVito nor his attorney appeared impressed. Jacoby stared at DeVito and dealt his trump card.

"Your cousin, Bennie Marconi, has agreed to a deal. He copped a plea and is turning State's evidence." He raised his eyebrows, his face remaining expressionless otherwise. "He has provided us with quite an interesting assortment of information." Jacoby rose from his chair in the interrogation room and laid his hands on the table, leaning toward DeVito and his attorney, a grimly satisfied gleam in his brown gaze. "Information not only related to the current investigation, but information dating back six years to the Eleanora White murder case, including your involvement in said case. We know you provided Denner with fake alibis and we know that your warehouse where Mr. Gunn was found was also used to hide the White girl before her body was dumped across the tracks." His voice was soft. Just the hint of a smile touched Jacoby's lips. "There is nothing false about your arrest, Mr. DeVito. I have a feeling you are going to be a guest of the State for a very, very long time."

With those words Jacoby walked out of the interrogation room, leaving things in the very capable hands of Detective Harmon. He grabbed his hat and raincoat from his office, shrugging the coat on as he passed through the squad room. He eyed Sergeant Davis, who was at a desk filling out a report on a typewriter, his fingers laboriously hunting and pecking the keys.

"Any word on Pete?" He paused next to the desk where Davis was working.

"Mother called." Davis made a face at the typewriter and ripped the ruined report form out, wadding it up and throwing it in the trash can. "He's been moved to the third floor. She wasn't sure of the room number yet." He stuck another form in the typewriter, rolled it to the proper position and started over on his report.

Jacoby nodded his thanks and donned his hat.

"I'll be at the hospital for a while. Then I'm going to stop by my house and see if my wife still knows who I am." He exchanged a brief but tired smile with Lee Davis. "Call either place if you need me."

* * *

Room 319 was directly across from the nurses station. Jacoby had run into Mother as he stepped out of the elevator, the tall woman walking the halls to try to get some feeling back in her legs after doing so much sitting. When he asked after Pete she supplied his room number and pointed in that direction. The door was standing open about a third of the way. He could see that the window blinds were pulled shut and the lighting was muted. The policeman pushed the door fully open and stepped into the room. Edie Hart was seated next to the bed, her back toward the door, the fingers of one hand laced with those of the man's hand where it lay partially outside the blanket. Jacoby removed his hat and walked over to stand next to Edie, making as little noise as possible but enough to let her know someone was there.

He stood for a few minutes gazing at his friend lying engulfed in white sheets and blue blankets, surrounded by hospital paraphernalia, medical chart clipped at the foot of the bed. The bruises and cuts on Pete's face looked worse than the policeman remembered, perhaps because of the lighting in the room. Or maybe it was because someone had done some haphazard shaving of the week's worth of beard stubble on his cheeks and chin in order to treat the injuries beneath, so there were actually more bruises and cuts visible. The blankets were pulled up over his chest to his shoulders, and Jacoby was glad of that, memories from what he'd seen in the emergency department rushing at him. There was a slight but visible rise and fall of Pete's chest as he breathed in and out but beyond that there was no movement at all, not even the twitch of an eyelid.

"How is he?" he finally asked. Really dumb question he told himself, but the words had already slipped out.

"About the same," Edie murmured in a low voice. "He has a severe concussion. Dr. Carson spent some time trying to explain it to me, and I guess now I know more about concussions than most people do, but a lot of it was still over my head. He did say if Pete had received treatment right away the prognosis would be much better. But after this many days without treatment..." She ran a tired hand through her hair, her eyes never leaving Pete's face. "He said the number of times he was hit in the head afterward just made it worse. And they're still concerned about the dehydration and exposure and the shock to his system from all of the-"

Jacoby turned his hat over a few times in his hands, his expression somber. From all of the beatings. The woman couldn't get the word out but he could hear it in her voice. He asked Edie when Pete's dad was supposed to arrive and offered to meet his flight at the airport and bring him to the hospital. She shook her head, offering up the information that either Emmett or Barney, maybe both, would accompany Mother to pick him up.

"Look Edie, I'm sorry I talked you out of notifying his dad when you wanted to." The hat went round and round in his hands again, a sign of the policeman's discomfort over the issue. "I should never have done that and I'll make sure he knows it was my call."

The blond shook her head, her gaze flicking toward him briefly, meeting his eyes for the first time since he entered the room.

"That's not necessary." Her voice was low but determined. "I'm a grown woman and I can take responsibility for my own actions. But thank you anyway."

Jacoby meditated for a while on her profile as she turned her attention back to the man in the bed. He appreciated and respected her desire to handle things for herself but he told himself that he would still inform Frank Gunn that not contacting him was the consequence of his actions and not the woman's. Telling Edie he would be back later he walked out of the room to go home for some time with his family. He was pretty sure she didn't even notice when he left.

She didn't. Just like she didn't really notice the nurses when they came in at regular intervals to hover over their patient, checking vital signs and marking them down on his chart. She answered any questions they had almost without thinking, extended her appreciation when she was brought coffee, declined when offered lunch because she doubted she would be able to eat anything or keep it down if she did. She was simply glad for the solitude as she kept watch over her man.

Dr. Carson stopped by every hour on the hour, checking the notations on Pete's chart, listening to his heartbeat, gently feeling at the lump on the back of his head, pulling out a small instrument which he used to shine a light into his eyes. During one of his visits he sat for a while and explained more about Pete's condition and what they were doing medically to alleviate the problems associated with his dehydration and exposure, told her what medications he was being given and talked about the recovery process with concussions, what signs were indicators that he might be regaining consciousness, the length of time it might take, that it could happen suddenly or gradually, and what they might expect from Pete when it happened.

The conversation gradually shifted from the medical to the personal. He asked about Pete and his job as a private investigator. He smiled upon discovering that Edie was a singer at a club owned by the tall woman who had been haunting the halls all day.

"So how did a girl singer ever end up with a private investigator?"

Dr. Carson watched as the woman looked toward the man in the hospital bed and a truly brilliant smile appeared on her face.

"She was very, very lucky..."


	16. Chapter 16

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.**

Frank Gunn wasn't certain exactly how long he simply stood in the doorway of Room 319 on the third floor of St. Francis Hospital, gazing at the man lying in the bed and contemplating the woman sleeping in the chair next to him. The lighting in the room had been dimmed, coming only from a muted wall lamp above the bed, turned at an angle so it shone away from the bed, and a thin strip of brightness that leaked through the slightly ajar door of what was most likely the bathroom. He saw no movement at all from either his son or the woman during the entire time he stood there, which might have been five minutes but could easily have been twenty. Finally moving a few steps further into the room, Frank let the door close softly behind him. He located the extra chair the nurse had whispered to him about, but instead of sitting he went to stand at the foot of the bed to get a closer look at his boy.

A fierce stinging sensation behind his eyes had the elder Gunn blinking rapidly and trying hard to hold back tears as his gaze rested on his son. He reached out a hand and laid it on one foot where it lay beneath the bed covers, wishing for a reaction he knew wouldn't come. The night nurse had given him an update on Pete's condition and status upon his arrival, with the addendum that Dr. Carson would be back at the hospital in a few hours and would be able to provide more information. Frank moved quietly around the bed and stood for a long while gazing down at his son's face, memorizing anew the features he hadn't seen in over two years, battered and bruised though they were. With the sign of the cross and a little prayer that gave silent movement to his lips, he moved back around the bed to the chair that sat against the wall right inside the door, his day catching up with him.

With a weary sigh he lifted the chair and moved it next to the bed, next to the sleeping woman, and tiredly sat down. His knees creaked and his back ached from too much time spent in the cramped seat of an airplane. The shirt and pants and cardigan sweater he wore that had been pressed and wrinkle-free this morning were now rumpled. But he was finally, after seemingly endless hours, where he was supposed to be. With his son, the boy he had helped bring into the world, the man he was so proud to call his own. Frank's gaze drifted to the woman, his son's girlfriend. She looked uncomfortable but she appeared to be sleeping soundly. A bed pillow was behind her head but looked as if it might fall to the floor at any moment. One of the nurses must have put it there after she nodded off. He quietly got up and left the room, returning a minute or so later with a light blanket which he carefully covered her with as well as he could, his dark blue eyes carefully studying her features. Her picture didn't do Edie Hart justice he decided. Pete had mailed him one of the two of them together that someone had snapped at a New Year's Eve party, not long after he had talked with her by phone for the first time. He remembered thinking how happy they both looked. Remembered how happy it had made him to see that smile on his son's face that told the whole world he was in love. Frank sat back down, reached across and gently grasped Edie's hand making sure not to wake her, and settled back in his chair to keep watch over his son while the girl slept.

* * *

She awoke slowly, the sound of low voices easing into her subconscious, melodious and deep. She knew those voices, both of them, but still only half awake couldn't connect the dots as to why they would be here together. She knew the face that went with one of the voices, although she hadn't known it long. The face that went with the other voice she'd never seen in person, could only visualize it through some old photographs combined with Pete's tall, dark and handsome looks. Pete. That was it. The dot connector. The common denominator.

Opening her eyes, Edie's gaze landed without conscious forethought on the man in the hospital bed. Her man. Heedless of the last three months, no matter the consequences of the past week, whatever the future held, he was and would always be her man. Her eyes dropped to the light blue blanket covering her lap. She didn't recall asking for a blanket, nor the pillow she felt behind her head. She remembered feeling sleepy and trying so hard to stay awake and maybe closing her eyes for a moment just to rest them. But one of those voices belonged to Dr. Carson and he wasn't supposed to be back again until six in the morning. Surely she couldn't have slept that long. Edie lifted her head from the pillow and squinted at the clock high on the opposite wall. It was almost six-thirty. She ran a tired hand through her hair, combing at it with her fingers, at the same time feeling her other hand being squeezed tightly. She stared down at the hand clasping hers but dared not raise her eyes to the face of the man it belonged to. Not yet. Instead she moved her gaze to the man in the white medical coat standing at the foot of the bed. He gave her a kind smile.

"I'm glad to see you got some sleep. Miss Miles tells me you dropped off about eleven-thirty and didn't move a muscle or blink an eye even during the shift change."

Edie felt the gaze of the man seated beside her and felt him squeeze her hand again as she straightened in her chair and tried to stretch a few cramped muscles, her eyes again coming to rest on Pete.

"I was telling Mr. Gunn that we'll be taking Pete downstairs in just a few minutes to run some tests and take another set of x-rays. He'll probably be down there for the better part of an hour so I'd suggest you take that time to get some breakfast and some fresh air."

The man beside her got wearily to his feet and she had no option but to do the same as her hand was still held securely in his. The pillow fell to the seat of her chair and the blanket was captured by Frank Gunn as it slipped from her lap. As he draped it over the back of the chair their eyes met for the first time. He had Pete's eyes. Or she supposed it was the other way around. But it was the first thing she noticed. And he had those same dimples in the sides of his cheeks. His hair wasn't cut as short as Pete kept his and it was graying but she could still see hints of the same black color. He had his son's slim build and he was perhaps an inch or two shorter and his face was a bit thinner but he was obviously Pete's dad. Pop. Her gaze went back to those eyes. She wished she had the ability to interpret the expression in their deep blue depths but she couldn't.

"Come on. We might as well follow the doctors orders." It was the same with his words. No inflection of any kind to let her know what he was thinking, so very different from the voice she had learned to know during the occasions they had spoken by telephone. But again, another reminder of Pete.

He guided her out the door, both stepping aside as several medical personnel entered the room and both taking a last glance at Pete, then began leading her down the hall toward the elevator and a sign indicating the direction to various hospital services including the cafeteria. But once past the nurses station he veered to the right, into the waiting area, rather than continuing down the hallway. Finding a secluded corner in the all but empty space he stopped and turned to face her, his hand still holding tightly to hers. Edie idly wondered if he was afraid she would run away if he let go. Seeing the serious expression on his face she actually found herself considering it.

"There are a few things I need to say to you before we go any further and I want you to pay close attention to _every_ _word_." Frank Gunn certainly didn't beat around the bush, a trait his son had obviously inherited from him. His voice was low and steady and had a rough quality she often heard in Pete's during emotional situations. His blue gaze was direct and unwavering.

Edie nodded, pushing a few stray wisps of hair away from her face. Mama had always told her that silence was golden and that certain situations would come along in her life when she would need to remember that. There was a time for talking and a time for listening she would say. Edie decided this was one of those times.

"First and foremost, anytime something happens to my son the very first thing you do is pick up the telephone and call me. No excuses. No ifs, ands or buts. You let me know what happened and how he is and whether I need to be here."

The man took a deep breath and slowly released it, his eyes shifting to look behind her, back toward the closed door of Pete's room. Edie couldn't decide whether he was angry and was trying to control his temper or if he was as afraid of his emotions right now as she was of hers and was trying to keep them in check. He remained silent for what seemed to her to be an eternity. It was their telephone conversation all over again. Only this time he couldn't hang up on her. His blue gaze finally captured hers again and he continued to speak.

"Secondly, don't _ever_ think you can't call me if either one of you needs me. Not just Pete. If _you_ need me I'm there. You listen to your heart and if your heart tells you to call me then you call, day or night. I'll be there." A muscle ticked in his jaw and an irritated expression momentarily darkened his eyes. "Other people's wants or desires or concerns don't count for anything when it comes to family. You belong to Pete and Pete belongs to me. That means _you_ belong to me and that makes you part of my family. For better or for worse. You remember that."

Edie nodded again and tried to blink away the moisture in her eyes and swallow past the sudden lump in her throat. Her heart was thumping hard inside her chest and her entire body felt as if it was quaking. She couldn't have opened her mouth to say anything if her life depended on it. She watched those blue eyes as they studied her face, so much like Pete's not just in color and shape but in the way they seemed to see into her soul. After a long silence the man gave a little nod, really just the lifting of his chin, and the ghost of a smile straightened his lips.

"And lastly-" Frank's voice softened and sounded even rougher than before if that was possible and he stared into Edie's eyes for several very long seconds. When he finally continued it was with a catch in his words and his gaze held the same sheen of moisture that was in Edie's eyes. "And lastly I want to thank you for loving my son."

A sob caught in Edie's throat, almost choking her as it pushed its way out.

She was pulled roughly against the man's chest as another sob grabbed at her insides, tears beginning to course down her face as her arms went around his waist, her hands clutching at his back, gripping his sweater. Frank's arms wrapped around her and he lifted one hand to cradle the back of her head, her face buried against his shoulder, her tears hot against his neck. And she cried as she hadn't cried since that warm June night three months ago when she had broken Pete's heart...and her own.

* * *

They sat on a small couch in the waiting area, never making it as far as the cafeteria. Edie Hart sat half asleep against Frank Gunn's shoulder. He watched the nurses bustling back and forth, hospital patients taking wobbly steps as they walked along the hallway with loved ones, the elevator doors opening and closing to admit or disburse medical personnel and visitors. One of the nurses, Miss Miles, a pretty redhead with a winsome smile, had taken pity on them and brought sandwiches and coffee from who knows where. He had asked and reached in his pocket for money to pay but had been brushed off, she hadn't paid for them so why should he?

"You never did start calling me Pop."

Frank's voice cut into the silence, quiet and deep and rough and so much like Pete's that for a moment, in her half asleep state, Edie almost thought it was Pete sitting beside her, his warm broad shoulder beneath her cheek. Soon enough she realized it wasn't.

"I couldn't work up the courage," she drowsily admitted.

"Why not?" The man tipped his head to the side and peered down at her face. Edie Hart didn't strike him as a woman who lacked courage. After all, she stood up on a stage six nights a week and sang in front of a club full of people. And she managed to put up with everything that happened in Pete's crazy life.

"That's Pete's name for you."

"So?" He frowned.

"It didn't seem right," she told him. "He's your son. I'm just- I'm just his girlfriend."

"You're not _just_ his anything." Frank gave her another close look. "He loves you more than I think even he can explain. When we talk on the telephone and the conversation comes around to you its like he becomes a different person. His voice is lighter and he laughs more. He's like that little boy of mine again. Back before the war and before his mom died and before all those other things that make a man grow up so fast."

"When was the last time you talked to him?" Her voice was hesitant and she lifted a hand to rub at still tear-reddened eyes.

"He called about three weeks ago." There was a long silence as he considered whether to say anything further. Finally he continued in a gentle voice, hoping he wasn't breaking some sort of unspoken covenant of silence between he and his son. "Look, honey... I know you and Pete have been going through a rough spell. He mentioned a while back that the two of you were having problems but that's all he said and I didn't push the issue. I figured you were grown adults and would figure things out on your own without an old man butting in."

Edie felt the tears start again and managed to stifle a sob. Or so she thought. Frank's arm shifted, coming up around her shoulders and hugging her close.

"Looking back on it I think that might be why I was so rough on you when you phoned about Pete. Here you were calling a week after the fact and I was angry and scared and I wondered if he actually meant so little to you that you would wait that long to let me know what had happened."

This time the sob did escape and she shook her head against his shoulder and tried to deny it but couldn't get the words out through her tears.

"But I knew that wasn't true before the thought even had a chance to cross my mind. So between sitting in cramped airplanes and waiting in airports I worried about Pete and I worried about what you'd been going through for a week already while I was sitting at home without a care in the world." The man released a soft sigh and tightened his arm around her, his rough cheek resting against the softness of her hair. "That's where all those things came from that I said to you earlier. Don't ever be afraid to talk to me about anything. Pete doesn't even have to know about it. He'd probably just get itchy and think we were talking about _him_ anyway."

Edie gave a damp chuckle at that.

"I'm sorry." She finally got the words out after several aborted attempts. "It was my responsibility to let you know about Pete and I let you down. I should have done what you said and listened to my heart."

"And not to someone else who should have known better himself." She felt his cheek move from the top of her head and his chin take its place. "Lieutenant Jacoby and I will be having a very interesting conversation in the not too distant future."

Edie lifted her head from his shoulder and pulled a tissue from the pocket of the pants she'd been wearing for almost a day and a half. She blew her nose then looked at Pete's dad.

"How did you know about that?"

"You seem to forget I rode from the airport with Mother and Barney and that other nice friend of yours." Frank smiled and gave a barking chuckle. "That woman gave me quite an earful while I was squashed in the back seat between her and Barney. She said _'Frank Gunn, don't you dare take your frustrations out on that girl!'_ " He raised a smile from the woman beside him at his perfect imitation of Mother's scratchy voice. "Then she told me _'You do and I'll call every last one of Pete's special friends and they'll be after you faster than fleas after a dog. You'll end up wishing you'd never been born!'_ All the while Barney had his elbow in my ribs and kept leaning in on me and that young friend of yours who was driving – Emmett? – was giving me the stink eye in the rear view mirror. I don't think I've been that scared since two gangsters gave me the bull rush one dark night on Chicago's east side too many years ago than I care to remember."

Edie couldn't help but laugh at Frank Gunn's impersonation of Mother and the antics of her friends. Her wide smile lit up her face, presenting him with his first real up close and personal portrait of the woman his son had fallen in love with. And the man was nearly blindsided by what he saw.

* * *

That's the way Dr. Joe Carson found them after he stepped from the elevator and walked down the long hallway – the young woman laughing for the first time since he had met her, the older gentleman recounting something the tall lanky woman named Mother had said or done, two coffee cups and a couple of mostly eaten sandwiches littering the table next to them. The happy expressions on their faces dimmed only slightly as he pulled up a chair and sat down across from them. They both looked at him with the same question in their eyes.

"They'll be bringing Pete back upstairs in a few minutes and you'll both be allowed back in his room in about half an hour. The staff has some housekeeping chores to take care of and they're going to get Pete cleaned up a little bit more than was possible yesterday morning after he was admitted – give him a sponge bath and do something to his face so he doesn't look quite the mangy dog."

"What did the tests and x-rays tell you?" As Frank Gunn asked his question the elevator doors opened and Pete was wheeled out on his hospital bed and gently rolled down the hall toward his room. The doctor refrained from answering the question until the door to the detective's room closed behind him, knowing from the way both were watching the man's progress that they wouldn't hear or make sense of a word he said. Once he knew he had regained their attention he responded.

"The reason I ordered another set of x-rays was to make absolutely certain there wasn't something we missed. I especially wanted to take a closer look at his head injury to be certain there was no fracture. There wasn't, which is good news and should make the healing process that much easier." Dr. Carson paused and motioned toward one of the nurses at the desk, with a smile and a thank you requesting a cup of coffee and asking that the others be refilled. Then he continued. "The swelling at the site of the injury has gone down dramatically since I examined Pete late last night and his pupil reaction has improved considerably."

There was another brief pause as coffee arrived, fresh and black and resuscitating.

"What does that mean?" This time the question came from Edie.

"It means Pete is making progress." Carson took a sip of coffee. "It means his body is doing its job as far as the healing process is concerned. We thought we might have some problems specific to exposure but so far we've managed to avoid that. His dehydration is still an issue but he's far improved in that area also. We're going to cut back on some of his medications that are being used primarily to keep him sleeping comfortably and will watch to make sure there are no adverse reactions to that." His gaze was frank and direct as he looked at the man and woman. "I won't make any promises and I'm not going to go out on a limb and specify an exact minute or hour, but I'm cautiously optimistic that we will see a positive response from Pete real soon. We're doing our part of the job. The rest is up to him."


	17. Chapter 17

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.**

The lighting in Peter Gunn's room was still muted but was enhanced by the elusive rays of a brilliant sun that had, at least for the time being, finally pushed the clouds and rain away. The window blinds had been turned slightly upward to direct the bright sunlight toward the ceiling but it still gave the room a warmth and a glow. It was late morning of Pete's third day at St. Francis Hospital. Edie Hart sat at his bedside on the same chair she'd been sitting on since he had been moved to the third floor. She held a book against one knee as she read to him, her other hand wrapped around his where it lay on top of the blanket. The book had been Dr. Carson's suggestion. Not this specific book. He had simply said that many medical professionals, including himself, felt that talking or reading to an unconscious patient might aid in the person's recovery. So she was reading to him and in the process was reading to Pop, who seemed to be enjoying it whether Pete himself could hear her or not.

"Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away." Edie paused in her reading, placed a scrap of paper as a bookmark at the end of that chapter of _A Tale of Two Cities_ and closed the book and lay it on the bedside table. She picked up her cup of coffee that was also on the table and took a cold sip, her lips pursing at the acrid taste. She had forgotten the coffee was there and by now it was hours old. Silently setting the cup down she leaned forward to peer at Pete's face. He seemed to be sleeping comfortably, his eyelids moving every once in a while as though he might be dreaming. She wondered if he was, and if so what those dreams might be about. She slanted a similar look at Frank Gunn, seated in his hard chair at the foot of the bed. His eyes were half closed and he looked like he might be nodding off or even actually dozing. He'd had a long thirty-six hours and needed some rest but neither one of them had slept much at all during the night.

 _Please don't stop reading! The last time someone read to me when I was sick I was eight years old and had the mumps. Mom read 'Huckleberry Finn' out loud. She sat on the bed with me and kept her arm around me. She was so warm and snugly. And Bobby Cooper was jealous that I got to stay home from school for a week and got to eat ice cream and had chicken noodle soup for supper instead of carrots and peas. He wanted to have the mumps too and asked me how I got them. I told him I didn't know, they were just there. I said maybe he should just pray for mumps and maybe God would listen and he'd get them too. He finally did get them when he was thirteen. I don't think he was happy about that. He didn't have as much fun with the mumps as I did. Maybe I need to pray. If I pray really hard maybe God will hear me and this will all be over. I should have thought of that before. But according to Pop it's never too late._

Edie brushed her thumb gently along Pete's hand where she held it against the covers, her fingers laced between his. His hand was warm to the touch, so much warmer than it had been yesterday. She just knew that had to be a good sign and Frank Gunn seemed to agree. He got up from his chair at the foot of the bed when she mentioned it, going to the other side to touch his son's hand. Yes, he nodded. So much of a difference from early this morning even. Dr. Carson stopped by and smiled when Edie told him. That's good, he said. If she could tell the difference that probably meant something.

 _You know that's one of my favorite books. Read to me some more. I need to hear your voice. Maybe I can tell you. If I can just get my lips to move I'll be able to get the words out. They might not be too loud, though. My mouth is dry and my throat stings and my tongue feels like it doesn't fit anymore and my lip really hurts where that big guy kept hitting me and splitting it open. But I'll try to say the words. If I can just get my lips apart and maybe wet them a little they'll start moving and they'll do what my brain wants them to do. They won't. They won't move no matter how hard I try. Maybe my brain isn't getting through to them. The way my head is swimming right now my brain might not be able to tell any part of me to do anything._

Mother and Emmett stopped by not too long after she put the book down, the woman bringing with her a change of clothes and some toiletry items for her girl singer. Edie took a quick shower in the room's bathroom while Mother and Emmett helped Frank keep watch over Pete. Just in case. She stepped out of the small room refreshed and smelling of Ivory soap and a shampoo that gave her hair an aroma that Pete once said reminded him of a walk through fields of lavender. Then Emmett drove Frank to Pete's place, much to Frank's displeasure but he went along to please Edie, so he could drop off his luggage that was still in the trunk of the car and take his own shower and put on fresh clothes and bring back a few things Pete might need when he woke up. Pajamas and underwear and slippers. There was no reason not to be optimistic. He and Emmett made it back within an hour and Edie and Frank were left alone with Pete again.

 _Why can't I open my eyes? The one thing I want to do, because you're the one thing I want to see, and I can't do it. My eyelids are so heavy I can't raise them. But they don't weigh anything! Why can't I just open my eyes and look at you? That's all I want to do. If I can see you I'll know you're safe. Are you okay? I'll try to open my eyes. I'll try real hard. It hurts too much. I can't. I'm sorry._

Miss Miles entered the room on the quiet soles of her prim white nurses shoes. Moving to the other side of Pete's bed she deftly lay her fingers at his wrist to check his pulse and then gently wrapped his arm with the blood pressure cuff. She jotted down both numbers on his chart and said that Dr. Carson would be by in a about an hour. There had been a bad accident and he'd been called to the emergency department and was a little behind schedule. But he'd be by as soon as they let him go. Picking up the two empty coffee cups she promised to be back shortly with more. Her glance fell on the book lying on the bedside table and she smiled but didn't say anything. When she returned with the coffee she was carrying a copy of _Oliver_ _Twist_ which she placed next to the other book.

 _I'll try something else. I can feel your hand in mine, your fingers between mine. I bet I can wiggle my fingers a little if I try real hard. If I concentrate on the warmth of your hand I'm sure I can give your hand a squeeze. Probably just a little squeeze but enough of one that you'll know I hear your voice. I feel your thumb rubbing on my hand, back and forth, back and forth. Do you know I can feel that? You need to know! I'll put all of my strength into it. Just. One. Little. Squeeze. Why won't my fingers work? Someone help me move my fingers! I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry they won't move. That I can't let you know that I'm here with you._

After taking a sip of fresh coffee and hoping her bladder could handle so much of it, and after asking Pop if he was ready for more of _A Tale of Two Cities_ , Edie picked up the book and started reading the next chapter. Frank decided he could listen to her voice all day and all night if need be. He was almost lulled to sleep but not quite. He managed to keep himself just enough awake to hear the story and make sense of it. It had been years since he'd last read it himself, probably not since Pete had been a boy. He remembered it had been one of his son's favorites and said so to Edie when she'd come back from the hospital library with it. She said she knew and that was why she had picked it out.

 _Oh good! Please keep reading to me. If you stop he might come back. But maybe you're not really here. Maybe it's another one of his tricks. Like the music and the perfume. It's all just a game isn't it? A game designed to see how much Pete Gunn can take, to find out what makes him tick. Or you could be part of another dream. Like that other one I had. We were dancing. The standing up kind of dancing, not the lying down kind. If I could get those words out I know you'd smile. That smile I haven't see in months and that I miss more than you can ever know. You'd tell me I was a nut. In the nicest possible kind of way. I could feel your hair in that dream and hear your voice and your laughter. It was just like you were there with me. But you weren't. I woke up and you were gone. I wondered whether I'd ever see you again. And then he said some things. Denner. He said he was going to pay you a visit. And as much as I tried I couldn't do anything, I couldn't move, I couldn't scream. I wanted to kill him. If I could have gotten my hands around his neck I would have strangled him. Gladly. For you._

Edie finished reading the chapter and closed the book and lay it on the bedside close to Pete's hand. A comfortable silence claimed the room for a while until it was eventually broken by Frank Gunn. He said that while he was at Pete's apartment he had placed a call to Lieutenant Jacoby. He had spoken with a very nice Sergeant Davis and was told Jacoby had been tied up with a murder investigation since the previous evening. Davis said his boss planned to get back by the hospital as soon as time permitted. He would personally make sure the Lieutenant was made aware of Frank Gunn's call. Frank asked Edie if she thought Jacoby was avoiding him. Or her. Maybe both of them. The woman just shrugged. Her fondness for Lieutenant Jacoby waxed and waned depending on the day and the circumstances. As without doubt did his for her. But he was Pete's friend so he was her friend.

 _Who else is here? Who's that other voice? Wait, let me hear it again. Pop? What are you doing here? How did you get here? You need to get out! Take Edie and run! You can't stay here in this dark wet basement with me. He'll be after you next. You need to save each other. Run! Forget about me! You're both more important than me. I can take care of myself. Don't worry. I'll be all right. I promise. But you won't run will you? You don't run from anything. You never have. My Pop. I knew you'd come for me. If nobody else in the world came looking for me you would. And you did. You came to save me. Those hoods won't know what hit them by the time Francis Patrick Gunn gets through with them. You know all about goons like them, right Pop? They'll be sorry they ever messed with Frank Gunn once you take care of them. You'll save Edie and you'll save me and we'll go home and everything will be fine again. Just like it was. Before._

It was actually about an hour and a half before Joe Carson made his way back to Pete's room. His eyes were red and his white coat was rumpled and he looked like he hadn't had much sleep but he was chipper and in a good mood and had a smile on his face. He took a look at his patient's chart and took his own set of vitals and listened to Pete's heart with his stethoscope and gently felt the back of his head. Then he pulled his little stool from the corner and sat down and began discussing Pete's condition with Edie and Frank and spoke of the marked improvement he saw from the previous night.

 _I don't recognize that voice. It's a gentle but gravelly voice and it sounds nice but that's probably just a ruse. He must be another one of Denner's goons. That one fellow hasn't been around. The wiry one who was built like a boxer. Hit like one too. Went for the kidneys and punched below the belt. A boxer who didn't play by the rules. This new guy with the gravelly voice must have taken the other fellow's place. Great. Now there are two helpmates again. The more the merrier to have some fun with good old Pete. But that's okay. The more fun they have with me the safer Edie and Pop will be. That's all that matters. Just leave them alone. Leave both of them alone._

Dr. Carson pulled the sheet and blanket back to examine the bruising on Pete's chest and abdomen. He palpated the area above his belly button and felt underneath him to inspect his kidney region and ran gentle fingers across his ribs and inspected the abrasions just below his collar bone. Neither Edie nor Frank looked away, having watched him do this several times before, their gazes both locked on the man they loved so much. The bed covers were pulled back up and the doctor took a look at the cuts and lacerations and bruises on Pete's face. Reaching into his coat pocket he brought out his small flashlight. Leaning forward he gently raised one eyelid to shine the light into Pete's eye.

 _That's it! I'm tired of the bright lights glaring in my eyes. Why don't you just leave me alone? That bare bulb on the ceiling was bad enough but this one is right in my eye! It's blinding me and I'm seeing spots and it hurts. It hurts so bad! I can't stand it. Get it away from me! It's making me nauseous again and I want to throw up. But I can't. There's nothing left inside me to vomit. And it really doesn't feel as bad as before. I can control it. But that light!_

The doctor jerked back, startled as Pete's right hand slipped from the protection of the woman's, reaching up to grab the front of his shirt with a grip that belied his weakened state. He pushed ineffectively at the doctor's chest, his eyes opening just a crack, groggy and unfocused. Edie was up in a flash, quickly grasping Pete's hand with gentle fingers, astonished at his sudden movement, trying to protect both him and Dr. Carson as she attempted to pull his arm down without hurting him. She felt Pop beside her as he tried to loosen Pete's grip on Carson's shirt.

Edie spoke close to Pete's ear in as soothing a tone as she could muster, begging him to please stop, telling him it's just the doctor, he's trying to help you.

"Please, honey, just let go. Everything is all right. You're all right. I promise. Just let go."

 _Edie. My dear heart. You're with me. But why are you here? You can't be here in this place. It's too dangerous. That man who brought me here does bad things. He kills girls. He killed a girl six years ago. He can't have you. No, no, no! Not you! I'll kill him. I'll kill him with my bare hands if he does anything to you. If Denner lays a finger on you I'll blow his brains out. If he runs I'll find him. If I have to go to the ends of the earth I'll find him. I'll beat him to death with my bare hands. I'll empty my gun into him. Then I'll find another gun and do the same thing. And I'll keep doing it until there's nothing left of him but a big hole. And then I'll do it all again._

"It's okay, he's not hurting me. It's just a reflex action on his part." Carson held himself steady as Edie continued to talk to Pete and his grip gradually loosened and he let go of the doctor's shirt, his fingers instead gripping Edie's hand. "He just doesn't like the light, that's all, whether consciously or subconsciously. It probably hurts his eyes." Carson tipped his head to get a better view of his patient's barely visible and unfocused gaze and spoke to him in a soothing voice. "I'm just going to take a look at your eyes, okay Pete? No bright lights at all. I promise."

 _Why don't you leave me alone? Stop poking at me. Stop touching me. Stop shining that light in my face. Okay, you can touch me. Edie. You're the only one. No one else. Except maybe Pop. He can touch me. But everybody else just needs to leave me alone. I hurt all over. I really hurt. My head hurts. My chest hurts. I guess that's good. I guess it means I'm still alive. But why does it hurt so much to be alive?_

Pete's eyelashes fluttered and his breathing remained erratic for a few minutes before finally settling back into a regular gentle rhythm, his chest moving to each sequence as he inhaled and exhaled. His fingers clung to Edie's hand as she sat down again, Frank dragging his chair from the foot of the bed to to sit beside her as the doctor completed his examination. His eyes became hidden as he appeared to find sleep once more.

 _Read to me some more. Please. You can begin the next chapter can't you? I want to hear your voice. I need to hear your voice. There's nothing else like it in the world. It's music to my ears. Your music. Can you sing to me? I haven't heard you sing in so long. Just in my head. Only in my dreams. I did it, didn't I? Got my body to do what my brain was telling it to do. Crazy. That's what you would say, right? Maybe I can do it again. I'll give it the old college try. I'll concentrate on moving one finger at a time and see if I can squeeze your hand again. One. At. A. Time._

Edie gave Pete's hand an encouraging squeeze as she grabbed the book from the bedside, her eyes going to their interlaced fingers as she felt a slight pressure being returned. She turned her head to tell Pop but didn't get the words out. His gaze was on their hands and tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes as he reached out his own hand and placed it over theirs.

 _I did it! Did you feel that? I know you did because your hand tightened on mine. And I can feel Pop's hand. Did you see that Pop? I did it..._


	18. Chapter 18

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.**

The loud clatter of his freshly shined shoes had Lieutenant Jacoby wincing as he walked through the front lobby of St. Francis Hospital toward the elevators. After another early evening spent at yesterday's homicide scene he had stopped by the precinct to check on some other matters before heading out for a quick supper. As he passed wearily through the squad room Sergeant Davis had handed him a pile of messages. The fourth one down from the top of the stack was from Frank Gunn. Jacoby glanced at his wristwatch as he waited for the elevator. Gunn had called at twelve-fifteen this afternoon, over eight hours ago, right around the time Jacoby had gone off duty from an extended shift spent trying to do everything he needed to do to close the investigation into Peter Gunn's abduction and begin trying to track down the elusive new homicide suspect. The city's crime rate hadn't slowed down while he was working Pete's case and had only seemed to pick up since the PI had been found and lawful punishment meted out to his captors.

Doors to one of the elevators opened and disgorged a half dozen people, the policeman stepping in behind a nurse, an elderly couple and two nuns. He shifted the cloth bag he carried from one hand to the other and removed his hat as the elevator slowly ascended to the third floor. Jacoby held the door and allowed the others to disembark ahead of him before he started up the hallway toward his friend's room. Pausing outside the door, which stood about halfway open, he knocked softly and then quietly stepped inside. Pete was there but neither Edie Hart nor Frank Gunn was in the room, only Mrs. Henry, a middle-aged, prematurely gray-haired nurse who had been a fixture on this floor for as long as anyone could remember, even the Lieutenant. She always seemed to be around when Jacoby had occasion to be on the third floor to interview injured crime victims and perpetrators alike. He took a few more steps inside, setting his hat and bag on a chair near the door before silently approaching the bed.

"How is he?" He gave the nurse a quick glance and a little smile, most of his attention on his friend. He looked better. Someone had done a commendable job of shaving his face, the light layer of stubble still there more evenly cut than with the previous attempt. Both arms were lying on top of the light blue blanket and there appeared to be a hospital gown over him beneath the covers. His chest was rising and falling at an even rate, his head turned slightly to one side, facing the chair at the side of the bed. Those bruises that were visible were changing color, various hues of black and brown and green and yellow and purple covering Pete's face.

"He's resting much more comfortably," Mrs. Henry smiled back. "If you're looking for Miss Hart or Mr. Gunn they're downstairs in the cafeteria. Dr. Carson made them both leave so he could do a thorough examination before we changed the bed and gave him his bath. He said he didn't want to see either one of them back in here before nine." She glanced at the clock, its hands hovering at eight thirty-five. "I won't hold my breath that they'll be gone that long."

Jacoby nodded and turned away from the bed, his gaze coming to rest on the bureau in the corner directly across from the window. The top was almost obscured by vases of flowers and cards too numerous to count, the floor beside it blanketed with green plants, even a few balloons rising from a basket filled with chocolates. More cards were taped to the wall and he walked over to look at them. There were words of inspiration or brief comments accompanied by the names of people Jacoby knew and many he'd never heard of. _Get well Pete. We love you. Wishing you a fast recovery. Our prayers are with you. Always thinking of you. Get better soon. God be with you. Missing you. Praying for your health._ Jacoby smiled at the one from Pete's friend Wilbur _– I feel so sorry for you, man (and by the way you look awful.)_ Finally with a sigh he picked up his hat and bag, saying he'd sit in the waiting area until Mr. Gunn and Miss Hart returned. Finding a chair facing the hallway he sat down, making himself as comfortable as possible, eyes on the elevator, thoughts with his friend.

* * *

He saw them as they stepped from the elevator. They didn't see him so he was given the opportunity to observe them freely as they walked down the hall toward Room 319. Her blonde hair was loose, falling to her shoulders and slightly obscuring her face. She wore dark green cotton pants and a white short-sleeved blouse and white canvas tennis shoes. Just regular everyday clothes that didn't flaunt her looks or her figure but most any man in his right mind would find her attractive nevertheless. Her left hand was captured in the older man's hand. Not in the manner of lovers or even friends for that matter, but as something fragile, something dear to one's heart, her importance to him obvious to even the most casual observer. Jacoby idly wondered how that had happened so quickly. Pete would be happy about it. The man wore a pair of well pressed gray pants with a white shirt and dark blue knit vest and he had on black dress shoes. His graying hair was cut short but not too short and he moved with a confident ease. The policeman continued to watch as Edie Hart and Frank Gunn paused at the nurses station. The elder Gunn turned his head to look in Jacoby's direction as the nurse on duty said something to him and the Lieutenant dipped his chin in acknowledgment. The man and woman had a brief, and on Edie Hart's part animated, conversation before she slipped across the hall into Pete's room and Frank Gunn turned to walk in Jacoby's direction.

* * *

Edie slid into her usual spot next to the bed, her blue gaze resting on Pete as she made light conversation with Mrs. Henry. She found out that Dr. Carson was well pleased with the improvements he noted in Pete's condition since earlier in the day. He seemed to be resting much more comfortably than previously and his sleep was a natural one, unlike the medication-induced one of the previous few days. His dosage of morphine had been cut, which might mean a slight but tolerable increase in his pain level, but would also allow a better opportunity for him to hopefully wake up and to stay awake for short periods of time. It all depended on how well his brain was healing from the concussion.

Slipping her hand beneath Pete's hand where it lay on top of the covers beside him, Edie gently curved her fingers around his and simply sat and watched him as he slept, her gaze drifting over his face, seeing beneath the cuts and bruises to the beauty of the man she loved. She enjoyed watching him sleep, had since the very beginning of their time together when they were first dating. She also loved watching him pretend to sleep.

On her days off during those early heady days of their relationship he would often appear at her door half an hour or more ahead of time, even after long hours on a job, and would end up stretching out on the couch while she was still getting ready for whatever activity they had planned for that day. He always told her he was just recharging his batteries so he'd be able to keep up with her. He got a laugh out of her every time. Later on in the relationship, when they got past that stage where they each felt they had to be going somewhere and doing something every time they were together, instead just finding contentment in being with each other whatever the circumstances, she came to the conclusion that he had been showing up early on purpose and was doing something other than sleeping. Sometimes he would come over and they'd talk and then make out for a while and afterwards discuss how they might spend the rest of the day. He'd lay on the couch for a nap while she took care of her chores. And she would catch him watching her. She would turn in his direction and he would quickly close his eyes. Or he would lie with his arm covering his eyes, but not enough that she couldn't see him looking at her as she moved around the room. Sometimes she would stop what she was doing and stare at him for the longest time but he never gave himself away. Then she would go back to her activity and she'd catch him doing it again. She never called him out on it and he never stopped doing it, even after their relationship progressed beyond dating to that of lovers.

Smiling to herself at where her thoughts had carried her, Edie returned her attention to Mrs. Henry, who was rambling on about several more cards that had been brought by or had come in the mail for Mr. Gunn. She mentioned they were on the bedside table. And another beautiful bouquet of flowers had arrived.

"You'd think he was a girl, the amount of flowers he gets!" Mrs. Henry went on.

Edie smiled and chuckled, her gaze landing on Pete's face again as she silently agreed with the woman.

She found herself looking straight into his eyes. Groggy, confused. But those beautiful blue eyes nonetheless. And this time he didn't try to hide that he was watching her.

* * *

Lieutenant Jacoby waited to sit down until Frank Gunn settled himself on a chair across from him. The man's handshake had been brief yet firm, his "glad to see you again" had been almost believable. They had met once before, several years ago, and the policeman had come away with the idea that Frank Gunn hadn't been overly impressed with him. He wasn't certain why. Perhaps he had been trying too hard. Pete had told him not to worry about it, that he dwelt too much on things, but he still couldn't help but wonder. The two didn't waste time on small talk, instead quickly muddying their shoes in the quagmire of events of the past week and a half.

"Tell me everything, Lieutenant." Gunn's gaze was direct and to the point. "Don't leave anything out, don't beat around the bush. And please don't think you need to be sensitive to my feelings. I'm aware of what happened to him physically. I've been looking at that for two days now. Just tell me about the case. Explain to me how Pete was involved so I can at least understand why this happened to him."

So the policeman explained as best he knew how and his friend's father listened as Pete himself always did, with a discerning ear and terse questions only when called for. When he finished his narrative Jacoby sat quietly in his chair, his eyes on the older man as he absorbed everything he had been told.

"That's what we know," the Lieutenant said after the silence dragged on until it became slightly uncomfortable. "Pete will be able to tell us more."

Jacoby didn't like the look Frank Gunn gave him when he said that and he decided he really couldn't blame him. The very last thing the man probably wanted to hear was that his son would be asked to give a statement to serve as part of the official record of the case.

"Why put him through that?"

"There are still a few loose ends we need to tie up. Pete will understand that." Jacoby watched as Frank Gunn raked the fingers of his left hand through his graying hair. He still didn't look happy but seemed to accept the policeman's reasoning.

Lieutenant Jacoby stood up and reached next to his chair for the cloth bag he'd been carrying. He placed it at Frank Gunn's feet and then sat down next to him, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him as he stared at the bag instead of the man.

"These are Pete's things," he said, his voice at its gentle best. "Everything we found in that house where he was kept. A few of them I had to show to Edie earlier, a few days ago, before we found Pete. I couldn't leave those items with her at the time but they're here with everything else. It's not necessary for us to keep them at this point."

"Why?" Frank reached into the bag for a smaller bag that held his son's wristwatch and wallet. He turned it over in his hands, looking at it from front to back and side to side before returning it to the place he found it.

"Excuse me?"

"Why did you have to show her?"

"I thought at the time that I was trying to prepare her for the worst," Jacoby admitted. "Afterwards I came to the conclusion that I made her angry more than anything else." A weak smile forced its way to his lips. "An angry Edie Hart is not someone I want to face again anytime in the near future."

The policeman pulled at his collar and loosened his tie as he straightened in his seat, his back meeting the chair as he leaned in that direction.

"Look-" Jacoby couldn't decide whether to call the other man Frank, which seemed a little too personal, or Mr. Gunn, which seemed standoffish, so he did neither. "I know I owe you an apology for not contacting you early on in the investigation. And whatever you do please don't blame Edie. I talked her out of calling you, told her you didn't need that worry on your shoulders and that Pete wouldn't want it for you. That was wrong of me and it is something I will always regret. Edie doesn't deserve to be on the receiving end of any bad feelings you have about that." He stared at his folded hands for a while then raised his gaze again to that of the other man. "She _did_ deserve to have you here with her so she wouldn't have to go through things alone, because no matter how much her friends have been here for her, I know she has still felt alone a lot of the time. And it was your right as his father to be here for Pete."

Frank Gunn's gaze swept over the policeman's face. He had been wondering whether Jacoby was going to bring up the issue or if he was going to have to do it himself. It made him feel better that the other man had done so, gave him more of an insight into his son's respect for him. But he would reserve judgment for the moment.

Jacoby's own eyes held an inquisitive gleam as he looked at the other man.

"I get the impression you and she haven't really talked about everything that happened."

"Edie and I have talked about everything that's important," Frank finally said. "We have a fairly good understanding of each other." He smiled at the speculative look he received from Jacoby. "But I appreciate your apology and your concern."

The Lieutenant nodded, not sure he would want to know about that understanding even if Frank Gunn was inclined to let him in on the secret. With a bone-weary sigh he got to his feet and grabbed his hat from the chair beside him, giving the older man a respectful nod as he turned to leave. He stopped in his tracks and turned back, his hand going to his back pocket for his wallet. Opening it he removed the bloodstained photograph that had been found with Pete's other personal items. He gave it a thoughtful look before handing it to Frank.

"This was with the things from Pete's wallet. I didn't think Edie needed to see it." Jacoby watched the elder Gunn run his thumb over the dried brown stains. "I'm pretty sure Pete will want to have it back."

* * *

Peter Gunn stared blearily at the face of the woman he loved. He wondered why she was looking at him that way. Did he have a smudge on his cheek? Without conscious thought he reached toward his face with the hand that wasn't being held like a vise in hers. It was as if his hand was moving in slow motion. As if it would never get where it was going. It seemed to lack the energy to make a concerted effort to do what he wanted it to do. As it was the hand never did reach its destination. The pretty blonde he couldn't take his eyes off of reached out and grasped it gently and moved it back down to rest at his side.

He heard some words, some strangely garbled words, from somewhere else and felt her release his hand and he watched her as she turned away. He tilted his neck as best he could to follow her with his eyes. In a moment she faced him again and he saw her lips move and she said something but the words and the movement didn't go together. His brow furrowed in a little frown and he squinted his eyes at her as he tried to figure out what she was asking. Water? Did he want some water? His forehead cleared as he saw the paper cup approaching, felt someone's hand beneath his head helping him to lift it forward because he couldn't do it on his own even with the head of the bed inclined, savored the cool wet liquid that passed his parched lips. It took two attempts to get the first sip swallowed but after that it became easier. As he continued to take small sips of water his gaze went to the person at his left side who was helping him to hold his head up. She was gray-haired and a little on the plump side and seemed to be smiling. She was dressed all in white and wore a name tag but he couldn't read what it said.

Taking the last drink of water from the small cup and swallowing, Pete's eyes drifted back to his girl, his head once again resting on the softness of the pillow. He felt her fingers around his hand again as she stood looking down at him and his eyes went to their hands. His fingers curled around hers and when he looked back up he saw that she was smiling. Then her face turned away and she was looking somewhere else. His gaze followed the direction she was looking and there was another person. He blinked his eyes and tried to focus. He blinked again and then again and again. Pop? His forehead creased in that little frown again. He felt his eyes getting tired and turned his gaze back to the woman at his side.

"Are you okay?" He felt his lips move but they were so very dry.

He watched as she filled the paper cup again and brought it to his lips. This time he was able to hold his head up by himself, his hand reaching up automatically to try to hold the cup as he drank with a greedy thirst, his fingers covering Edie's hand. All the while he stared with unblinking eyes at the man standing at the foot of the bed.

"Hi, son." Frank Gunn smiled and reached out a hand to rub his boy's leg.

Pete lowered his hand as he finished drinking, the expression on his face confused as he continued to gaze at the other man. Exhaustion crept into his voice as he spoke.

"Hi, Pop." His words became slurred. "What're you doing here?"

"Where else would I be?"

Pete frowned and looked toward Edie again. His eyelids drooped further.

"Are you okay?" he asked again, seeing her nod as his eyes continued to close. He heard her say she was fine. Just fine, he wasn't to worry about her. And he thought he felt the touch of her lips on his as he drifted into sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.**

Edie Hart stopped reading as the chapter came to an end, the door to Peter Gunn's room coincidentally opening to admit Dr. Carson with Miss Miles trailing behind by a couple steps. Pete's lashes fluttered as his eyes opened. He had been awake for a while, listening to his girl's velvety voice as she read aloud, wondering if what he was hearing was real or part of another dream and not wishing to spoil it should it be the latter. He stared at the two visitors with eyes that didn't seem to want to focus properly, the beginnings of a throbbing ache stirring around in his head. The PI's gaze moved from the man and woman to another figure seated by the foot of the bed, arms resting on the short railing, his gaze locked on Pete's face. He looked the man up and down with confused blue eyes.

"Pop?"

"Hello, son."

Frank Gunn smiled, glad to see his son looking a little more lucid than he had been the previous evening. He had awoken a number of times during the night, usually just long enough to swallow a few more sips of water but not saying anything, slipping quickly back into sleep as soon as his head came in contact with the pillow again. On a couple of occasions he stayed awake long enough to recognize the people who happened to be in the room, each time asking Pop what he was doing here and asking Edie if she was okay.

"What are you doing here?" Pete tried a smile of his own, grimacing and raising a hand toward his face at the pain the simple act produced, wincing and hissing in further pain as his fingers came in contact with his bruised and broken bottom lip. He allowed his hand to be taken and held securely by the woman at his side. He could see her in his peripheral vision but had so far refused to look at her, afraid she might turn out to be a figment of his imagination. But the warmth of her hand was obviously real. Turning his head on the pillow, he missed the concerned glance Frank tossed the doctor's way, and instead met the soft blue gaze of the blonde sitting beside the bed. His eyes drank in her features, basked in the pretty smile that lit her face, admired the soft hair that fell to her shoulders, before drifting restlessly toward the corner of the room to once again become confused at the riot of flowers and plants and cards he saw there.

Pete slowly returned his gaze to Edie and then Pop and then to the two people on the opposite side of the bed that he finally determined to be a doctor and a nurse. A covered bowl had appeared on a tray that seemingly came from nowhere, the aroma of whatever lay beneath the cover tantalizing the man's senses. He raised his head from the pillow and looked down at the tray, the ache in his head continuing to throb, his eyes diverted by the hospital gown drooping from his shoulders and chest to reveal black and purple bruising as far as he could see. Curiously he used a finger to lift the gown further to get a better look at himself. A tiny glint of humor crossed his face as he released the gown and raised his eyes.

"Must've been some fight." His voice was raspy but the words were clear. "I'd hate to see what the other guy looks like."

Frank Gunn threw another concerned glance at Dr. Carson, who simply shook his head and answered his unspoken question by saying it wasn't an unusual reaction and that things would return to normal slowly. Pulling his stool from the corner Carson sat down and looked at his patient and asked Pete if he remembered him or Miss Miles, who he indicated with a motion of his hand. He received a careful shake of the head after Pete gave both of them a squinty look. Carson assured him that was fine then reached out and lifted the cover from the bowl on the tray, telling Pete he had been doing so well getting water down that it was time they tried him on some real food. Pete looked at the bowl and tried to grimace through a twinge of discomfort.

"Since when has chicken broth been considered real food?"

Carson smiled and told Pete he was going to ask him a really silly question. He asked him if he was in pain.

"I know you must be. We lowered your morphine dose so you wouldn't sleep so much and I don't want to raise it again. I can give you something else that's not quite as strong and won't make you sleepy but will keep the pain in check."

Pete stared at the doctor curiously, some thought and some question trying to form at the back of his mind at the man's words but not able to fight its way past the muddle inside his brain. Instead he just told him he had a headache and asked if he could have some aspirin. What he received appeared to be something much stronger than regular aspirin but he didn't ask. He got the big pills down with a little difficulty and a couple swallows of water and then was encouraged by Carson to try the broth. Picking up the spoon he managed to scoop up some broth but by the time he got it half way to his mouth he was seeing double. He held the spoon where it was and stared at it with a frown trying to decide which way to go with it until Edie reached out and gently guided it in the right direction. A few more spoonfuls reached their target with less difficulty before he laid the spoon down.

Something the doctor had said continued to niggle at Pete's brain and his eyes were once again drawn to the flowers and cards in the corner of the room. Before he could get his question out though the doctor told him he needed to ask him a few more questions of his own and that he might once again consider them silly questions but he'd like Pete to answer them to the best of his ability. The detective nodded.

"Can you tell me your age?"

"Thirty-four." Pete lifted his hand and rubbed at the back of his neck. His headache wasn't any worse but it wasn't getting any better either.

"Can you tell me what color Miss Hart's eyes are?" The doctor glanced across the bed at Edie and winked. "Without looking."

"Blue." Pete frowned. "Why would I have to look?"

"Can you tell me _her_ age?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"What kind of job did your dad have when you were growing up?" Carson was still smiling at his patient's previous answer.

"He chased after bootleggers."

Dr. Carson raised an eyebrow at that answer and glanced at Frank Gunn.

"What can I say?" Pop shrugged his shoulders. "A job's a job." He looked over at Pete. "That was only until '33 anyway. You were too young to remember any of that."

"It's still fun to say it."

"Who is the President of the United States?" Carson continued.

"Dwight Eisenhower."

"What month is this?"

"September."

"Do you know today's date?"

Pete's forehead creased in a frown as he gave that question some consideration. Based on a couple of things he _thought_ he remembered – a visit to his insurance agent and a trip to the dry cleaners – he chose a date and mentally added two days, figuring he might have been in the hospital that long. He immediately knew he had given the wrong answer but no one corrected him.

"You've suffered a very severe concussion." The doctor's voice took on a serious overtone. "Do you understand what a concussion is?"

Pete nodded.

"Your headache is a result of your concussion. You're going to have to put up with it for a while, along with the double vision and problems with depth perception. You may also have other problems – lack of sleep, sleeping too much, irritability, restlessness. Your brain was banged around. It will take a little while for it to get back to normal."

"How did it get banged around?"

Dr. Carson took a while to consider that one, his expression thoughtful.

"I can't give you a precise answer to that. I wasn't there," he finally said. "Your friend Lieutenant Jacoby might be able to provide you some sort of clue but only you know for sure, and that's your _biggest_ issue right now – remembering. The memories will eventually come back. We just don't know when or how."

* * *

The bag was calling to her. The gray cloth bag sitting in the corner between the bureau and the wall. Pop had returned to Pete's room with it following his talk with Lieutenant Jacoby the previous evening. Edie had asked neither about the discussion nor the bag. She could imagine how the first one went and she knew without asking what the second one contained. She glanced at Pete. He had dropped off to sleep a few minutes after the doctor and nurse left the room, his broth half eaten, and Frank Gunn had stepped out to stretch his legs, so he said. She knew he had gone to get some further information from the doctor and had left him to it.

After sitting a while longer, her eyes on Pete's chest as it steadily rose and fell, Edie fetched the bag and propped it against her chair as she sat back down. She studied it for a few minutes before reaching down and drawing out the smaller bag on top. She opened it and removed Pete's wristwatch and wallet and laid them on the bedside table before tossing the bag in the wastebasket. She did the same thing with the rest of the items in their various bags until she reached the black suit jacket folded near the bottom. She unfolded it and draped it across her lap then retrieved the final items in the bag, Pete's favorite pair of black leather shoes. Then she reversed the process. Everything went back into the bag except the wallet, the contents from the wallet, the wristwatch, Pete's comb (for reasons no one but she would understand), the laundry ticket and insurance receipt, the cuff links, Pete's keys, his cigarette lighter and his revolver, which she left in its separate sealed bag. Everything else could go, she wanted no part of any of it. If the police wanted it then Jacoby could take it back. If not she would trash it or burn it or throw it in the river. She told Pete's dad as much when he came back. He left again with the bag in hand and returned a few minutes later without it. He didn't tell her what he did with it and she didn't want to know.

"You need to go home."

"What?" Edie glanced up from setting and winding Pete's watch. Frank watched as she wiped the crystal face and leather band and placed the watch on the the table next to the telephone.

"You need to go home and get some sleep, take care of things you've been ignoring. I'll be here with Pete." Frank smiled gently. "He'll be all right without you for a while."

She stared at him as he said those final words. _He'll be all right without you for a while_.

No. She would never do that again.

"I'll go home when Pete is able to remember I'm coming back. Not before."

* * *

Pete slowly set the spoon down in the bowl of half-eaten soup, watching bits of rice and noodle swirl around at the bottom of the dish. The bland mishmash seemed to stare right back up at him through the ripples made by the settling spoon. It was a strange reminder of his life over the past several months. A half-lived, bland, swirling mishmash of an existence. He looked to the woman at his side, his gaze touching on the blonde softness of her hair, the pretty iridescent blue of her eyes and the tender curve of her lips. She had been missing from his life for far too long.

"If I'd known getting myself beaten up would get you to talk to me I would have had somebody do it three months ago." His voice was low, still scratchy, but carried a wealth of emotion.

"Pete-" Unable to get any words past the sudden lump in her throat she abruptly leaned toward him, her right hand grasping at the back of his neck to pull him close as her lips sought and found his. He winced as sharp pain shot through his sore bottom lip, at the same time wrapping his right arm around her shoulders and pulling her as near to him as physically possible, regardless of shouts of pain from other parts of his body, unwilling to release her once he felt the touch of her lips on his. His fingers dug into the soft fabric of her light blue sweater as he held on tight. Their lips continued to cling once the kiss ended, Edie lifting her hand to examine Pete's face with a gentle touch of her fingers.

"I hurt you." She outlined the edges of his lips with her index finger, hovering over the still tender split in the bottom one. He innately knew she wasn't referring to the physical pain he had just experienced. He wet his lips and closed his eyes as her hand drifted first to his hair, weaving through its mussed blackness, then down the side of his neck to his throat, lingering at the quickening pulse she found there. Pete turned his face from hers to find that sweet spot in the curve of her shoulder, his head resting there as he inhaled her unique aroma mingled with that of soap and shampoo and perfume.

"I took you for granted," he parried, his breath warm against the her neck, the short stubble of his beard scratching her soft skin in a wonderful way. "I took what we have for granted. I won't ever do that again. I promise." He felt a warm moisture on his cheek and couldn't tell whether it was Edie who was crying or if it was him or maybe both of them.

Neither of them heard the almost silent opening of the door nor did they see the man who stood there, quietly watching them, afraid to move lest he interrupt their moment. He remained holding the door so it wouldn't make the noise it always did as it closed.

"You're the most important thing in the world to me. Nothing else even comes close." Pete's words were almost a whisper next to her ear. "There's a reason I was working so much, taking all those jobs-" She felt him smile. "But it wasn't something that was supposed to come between us. I want you to know that."

"I know," she soothed, hearing the weariness creeping back into his words. "You can tell me about it later." Her hand moved back to his hair and drifted soothingly to the nape of his neck.

"We'll be all right." His voice had dropped to below a whisper.

"We _are_ all right." The woman's voice was barely higher than his. "More than all right. Always."

Pete took a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh as he opened his eyes. He blinked at the man standing in the doorway, half turned away, staring at the floor as he tried to give them the privacy he had unknowingly invaded. Pete moved his head so that his chin rested on Edie's shoulder but he didn't remove his arm from around her. He found a smile and directed it toward the man.

"Hi, Pop."

"Son." Frank Gunn tried to look elsewhere. At least this time Pete didn't ask him what he was doing there. He figured that was a step in the right direction. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

Edie pulled away, her face averted as she looked toward the bedside table for a tissue. Realizing she had been the one who was crying Pete reached out and wiped at her face with the palm of his hand. She found a Kleenex and blew her nose.

"You look tired, honey." Pete's head dropped back to the pillow as he felt his own weary body react to just the little bit of activity it had experienced over the last few minutes.

"She is." Frank took the opportunity to seize on his son's words. "That's why she's going home to get some sleep." He gave Edie a pointed look as he moved further into the room to stand next to her chair and place a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Pete watched some sort of silent exchange take place between his girl and his dad. He would have grinned if he could figure out which muscles to use and if he knew doing it wouldn't hurt. The irresistible force versus the immovable object. It was difficult to tell which was which but he knew both of them with their own separate intimate knowledge. Though he was curious as to which one would back down first he wouldn't be surprised either way.

"Fine." It was Edie. She didn't sound happy. And she continued her eye battle with Frank Gunn, staring up at him as she spoke. "But I won't be long."

Pete's gaze held the smile he couldn't force his lips to produce. A stubborn Edie Hart was a picture to behold.

"You can come back in the morning."

Her eyes widened and she began to respond as Pete interrupted.

"You look tired too, Pop. You should both go. I'll probably just sleep all night anyway."

"No." Edie quickly stood up and began to gather her things together. "I'll go home and get some sleep and come back in the morning." She locked eyes with Frank Gunn but spoke to Pete as she continued. "When I get back Pop can go home and do the same."

Pete's dad gave her one of Pete's stares along with one of Pete's jaw twitches. Then he gave her one of Pete's best smiles and slowly nodded, his blue gaze holding the same gleam of admiration Pete's always did. Pete himself was already asleep.


	20. Chapter 20

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.**

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 20**

Edie Hart pushed through the door of Peter Gunn's hospital room to find an empty bed. Frank Gunn sat in what had become his regular chair near the foot of the bed, trying his very best to hide an amused smirk but failing miserably. Miss Miles stood at the closed bathroom door, arms folded against the breast of her starched white uniform, a mutinous expression darkening her normally placid green eyes. A perplexed frown creased her forehead at Edie's questioning glance.

"Where's Pete? Is he all right?"

"He's taking a shower." Miss Miles sighed and rolled her eyes.

"By himself?" Edie dropped her bags and purse next to the bedside table and looked from the young redheaded nurse to Pete's dad, her blue gaze filled with concern. Her eyebrows went up as Pop bellowed with laughter. The nurse looked far from amused.

"I'm supposed to be in there with him but he insisted he didn't need my help." Her lips thinned and her eyebrows lowered and she looked almost like she might want to stomp her foot. "He told me he wouldn't get in the shower unless I left the room."

Eyeing the cute little redhead Edie couldn't decide whether she should shout hallelujah or if she should be concerned that Pete was by himself in the shower. She brought her attention back to Miss Miles as the nurse continued talking about how large the shower area was and that Mr. Gunn had a stool so he wouldn't have to stand the whole time and the bathroom door wasn't pulled all the way shut and he was aware there would be someone right outside if he decided he needed anything. And she would be sure to let Dr. Carson know that his patient was being far from cooperative!

Edie almost smiled. From what she had discovered of Joe Carson he would probably consider Pete's attitude a step in the right direction. She looked at Pop.

"What about you?" She watched as he gave an amused snort at her question.

"He told me he hadn't needed help taking a bath since he was five years old and he didn't need anyone to remind him to clean behind his ears."

Edie gave a sigh and shook her head, worried that Pete was on his own in the slippery shower yet very well aware of how stubborn and self-reliant he tended to be. Making up her mind on a course of action she spared Frank Gunn a glance.

"I think I can handle things here. Why don't you go back to Pete's and get some rest." She pulled open the drawer of the bedside table, picked up the detective's key ring and handed it to Pop. "The police impound lot released his car last night. I found the spare key and picked it up this morning. The silver Corbin key is to his apartment." Edie told him where the Plymouth Fury was parked in the hospital lot and described it in detail. Then she asked if he needed directions back to the apartment because it was a different one from the last time he had visited his son and the first time he'd been there Emmett had driven him.

Pop shook his head, eyes crinkling in amusement as he shoved the keys into his pocket.

"I'll find my way." Frank Gunn apparently shared his son's unique sense of direction and the ability to find his way around without getting lost. "But not until I see the outcome of this little shenanigan." He leaned back and crossed one leg over the other and folded his arms and waited.

An exasperated breath found its way past Edie's lips as she grabbed one of the bags she had carried into the room with her and walked over to the bathroom. The nurse moved aside and watched as she knocked on the door and pushed it open a little further.

"Pete. Do you need any help?" She made her voice loud enough to be heard above the sound of the water spewing from the shower head.

"No!" His answer was quick and to the point. He didn't need help. He wasn't helpless. He was a grown man for goodness sake! All in that one little word.

"Is it all right if I just come in and sit?" Edie leaned her forehead against the door and her fingers fiddled with the doorknob as she waited for an answer. When Pete eventually responded in the affirmative she slipped into the room and let the door swing back until it was almost but not quite shut.

Miss Miles rolled her eyes again and glanced at Frank as she stepped across to the bed and began removing sheets and blankets and pillow cases. She left the room with them and returned in a few minutes carrying fresh linens and began to make the bed.

In the meantime Frank Gunn sat and pondered, the smile gone from his face though a hint of amusement still resided in his eyes. He had been of the opinion that Edie might get Pete to allow either him or the nurse into the bathroom just in case Pete did end up needing help. He hadn't figured on her going in there herself. Frank loved his son, and he had decided he really liked his son's girlfriend long before he had even met her, but someone really needed to have a talk with them about their sense of propriety.

Edie meanwhile had parked herself on a plastic chair that had been placed conveniently next to the sink, but not before peeking through a crack between the shower curtain and the wall to make certain Pete was okay. The floor of the shower was sunken by a few inches, just as she remembered from a few days ago when she'd used it herself. Pete was sitting on a plastic stool placed directly beneath the water flowing from the shower head, wearing a pair of light blue cotton boxers that were plastered to his body, his face turned directly into the stream of warm water. He sat perfectly still, seemingly enjoying the feel of the water against his skin. From where they were both seated he would be able to see her if he needed her just by turning his head and looking through the crack in the curtain.

Relaxing a little, Edie leaned her head back against the wall behind her and closed her eyes, ruminating on the first night she had spent away from Pete since he'd been found in the trunk of that car inside the waterfront warehouse. She didn't know a lot about what had happened to Pete during the week he was gone, wasn't sure she _wanted_ to know, but she had eventually badgered that part of the story out of Lieutenant Jacoby as they sat outside the emergency department waiting for news about Pete. She didn't want to think about it. And deep down inside she hoped and prayed that Pete wouldn't have to either. She hoped and prayed he wouldn't remember _anything_ that had happened to him. But she had a feeling neither one of them would be that lucky.

* * *

She really hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Thomas, the little ginger cat, had met her at the door of her apartment, meowing pitifully at her long absence. After changing his litter box and checking his water dish and replenishing his kibble she went over to old Mrs. Pilcher's apartment and knocked on the door and thanked her for taking care of the feline. The woman had asked after Pete, was he recovering, would he be able to leave the hospital soon? He was such a good looking man she told Edie, who didn't know where that little tidbit came from but politely agreed. She would have to mention the woman's comment to Pete. She could already imagine his response. "Mrs. Pilcher needs to find herself another husband to keep her occupied. She's too obsessed with other people's lives." But he would smile as he said it because they both liked the nosy old woman. She was just lonely since her husband had passed. Mrs. Pilcher had pushed several dishes of homemade food into Edie's hands, which became her late supper.

After eating – she discovered she was ravenously hungry – Edie had afforded herself the pleasure of a long hot shower and actually donned pajamas and a robe for the first time in a while. Then she sat down and made a few phone calls – to _Mother's_ , where Barney answered and they discussed Pete before he handed her off to Mother, who asked a lot of questions and received plenty of answers and said she would be by to see the rascal tomorrow and then handed the receiver to an impatient Emmett, who asked after Pete and told her she was missed and when did she think she'd be back, because he and the guys were tired of working with Peggy Dolan whether she was one of Mother's favorite fill-in singers or not. Then she had done the right thing after hanging up with Emmett by placing a call to the 13th Precinct and asking for Lieutenant Jacoby. When informed that the Lieutenant was out on a case she spoke with the nice Sergeant Davis, telling him that Pete was awake and was improving and that she wanted him and Jacoby and everyone else who had helped bring him back to know that so would he please pass the word? She also asked him to pass along Pete's thanks and Pop's and hers for everything the men and women at the Precinct had done and for their cards and flowers and prayers. Edie had given Sergeant Davis her home number and told him the Lieutenant could call her back if he so desired and had the time. She later wondered if that was how he had worded the message for Jacoby.

Edie had barely hung up with Davis and had glanced at the hall clock, noticing it was already past eleven, when the telephone rang back. Frank Gunn's amused voice was on the other end of the line.

"I was warned by this fellow in the bed here that the way your mind works you would probably consider tomorrow morning as being any time after midnight." There was a beat of silence. "Don't try it. I don't want to see you back here before nine." By the time she woke up at just before six-thirty she couldn't remember what her reply had been but she did recall Pop's snort of laughter in response.

Just before midnight Jacoby had returned her call, apologizing for phoning so late and thanking her for the information concerning Pete. He promised he would be by to visit with him – Edie wasn't sure she liked the wording he used – sometime in the afternoon. He also informed her that he was having the impound lot release the PI's automobile and that she or another designated person could sign it out whenever convenient. When he asked if there was anything either she or Pete needed she told him no thank you and goodbye, although in a much nicer manner, and went off to bed.

Morning had begun with a phone call to her parents to update them on Pete's condition. The detective wasn't their favorite person in the world, for various silly reasons known only to them and her brother Jeff and her and Pete. But when Pete hurt, Edie hurt. And when Edie hurt, Mama and Papa Hart hurt. Edie had spoken to them only a couple of times throughout the entire ordeal, politely refusing to have either or both of them come stay with her. She honestly didn't think she could have survived such a visit no matter how much she loved both of them. She had been somewhat dumbfounded therefore when Mama told her to "Give Pete our love and let us know if you need anything". Next was a quick cab ride to Pete's apartment where Edie spent about an hour picking up around the apartment, changing the bed linens, throwing some extras for Pete into a small travel bag and restocking the fridge with a call to the market two blocks up the street. She managed to locate the spare key for the Plymouth and after another cab ride to the impound lot to retrieve the car she arrived back at the hospital with minutes to spare before Frank Gunn's nine o'clock ultimatum.

* * *

The sudden sound of silence, if there was such a thing, from the shower brought Edie back to the present and she opened her eyes to find Pete peering at her from behind the curtain, which he had pulled slightly aside. She bit her lip to keep from smiling at the way his waterlogged boxers clung to him, finding it humorous despite the sight of the bruises and abrasions on his torso and the knowledge that the injuries to his ribs must be making it difficult for him to move around without pain, not to mention his almost constant headache.

"I wondered if you were sleeping." Pete gave a little smile at the question in her eyes. "I said your name three times."

"Sorry." She gave him a smile in return and sat up straighter. "I guess I was thinking too hard. Do you need some help with something?"

"I can't get my back," he admitted with a grimace, all the while running a palm up and down one side of his face, "and I need a razor."

Telling him to sit back down and saying she would be right back, Edie slipped into the other room to grab Pete's travel bag under the watchful eye of his dad and Dr. Carson, who had apparently come by to check on his patient even though it was technically his day off, saying he was in no hurry and would wait on Pete. Edie stepped back into the bathroom, pushing the door almost shut before hanging the bag on the clothes hook on the back of the door. She toed off her sandals, removed a couple of items from the bag and stepped into the shower in her bare feet, feeling Pete's eyes on her as she placed his shaving cream, razor and shampoo on the small shelf next to the hospital-issue soap.

Grabbing the washcloth and soap Edie quickly had Pete's back and shoulders lathered, standing him up and sliding his boxers down and dropping them to the floor to soap his behind and grinning at his fidgeting before sitting him back down and grabbing the shampoo. Despite the man's complaint that he'd already washed his hair she washed it again anyway with his own shampoo before reaching to turn the shower spray back on to rinse the soap and suds. Finally she handed him his razor and asked if he'd like to try shaving his face himself in front of the mirror above the sink or if he wanted her to do it while he sat where he was. Pete stared at the razor for a moment and handed it back telling her to go ahead. She knelt in front of him and began applying shaving cream to his face.

"You're getting your slacks wet," Pete told her.

"They've been wet before," Edie absently responded, trying to avoid hurting him as she gently stroked the razor along his cheek.

Pete watched her face as she concentrated and let his eyes wander over her profile each time she turned to rinse the razor. He winced only once, when she inadvertently scraped the sharp blade along a scab softened by the water. Edie felt his warm gaze on her as she continued her task and she met his eyes with a smile now and again. She noticed quickly when the warmth in his stare turned to uncertainty and his eyebrows twitched in a little frown.

"How long have I been here?" Pete thought he felt the razor pause for the briefest of seconds when he asked the question that had been on his mind all morning. But Edie continued with the long stroke along his jaw and lifted his chin gently to get a better angle. He placed a hand on her forearm to still her. "Edie?"

"In the hospital?" She looked him in the eye but he thought her question sounded odd. He watched as she seemed to consider her answer, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, before coming to some sort of decision in her own mind. "Five days. This is the fifth day."

Pete had known something was off. It was that worry, that question that had niggled at his brain when the doctor had told him that his morphine dose had been lowered so he didn't sleep so much. When he saw all of the cards and flowers in his room. When he answered Carson's question about what day it was and the doctor and Pop exchanged glances. His time was all off.

"So today is what? The seventh, the eighth?"

She didn't answer him, was instead staring at him, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she knelt in front of him, the razor and the shave momentarily forgotten. There was more to it. There had to be.

"Edie?" He sighed when she continued her silence. "Honey, just tell me. We're always honest with each other," he softly told her. "Even when we don't like what we hear," he added, trying out a smile and a little humor. "Please."

"The fifteenth," she finally told him somewhat reluctantly. But he needed to know, he'd find out eventually. "Today is the fifteenth."

Pete stared at her, his eyes widening just the littlest bit. How could that be?

"The fifteenth." He slowly nodded and shifted on the stool and raised his eyebrows. "Of September."

Edie nodded and he released a relieved breath.

"1959?" He tried another smile.

"Yes, Pete." Edie gave him a little smile and a soft chuckle at that question. At least he was holding on to his sense of humor after being told he was missing what amounted to two weeks of his life. She lifted the razor back to his face and quickly finished his shave.

After wiping off the remaining lather she had him stand beneath the water for a final rinse then stood and watched as he dried himself off as best he could, helping only when he asked. He wrapped the towel around his waist and slowly sank down onto the plastic chair she'd occupied earlier. He looked up at her as she cleaned his razor in the sink.

"What happened to me? Where was I the rest of the time?"

She didn't look at him, concentrating instead on washing the razor so meticulously that there would be nothing left of it by the time she was done. Pete saw her lips tremble as she shook her head and gave a little shrug and tried to say something but couldn't.

"Hey, it's okay." He grabbed at her hands with one of his and turned her away from the sink, taking the razor from her and setting it aside as he pulled her against his knees. Her slacks were wet against his legs and her blue blouse had dark water spots all over it and her blonde hair was damp and curling from the fine spray of the shower. "Don't worry about it, honey. I guess that's what the doctor was talking about when he said I'd have memory problems for a while. I'll remember when my brain wants me to remember."

"I don't _want_ you to remember!" Edie vehemently responded in a choked whisper. She reached out her hands to touch his face, her fingers gliding along his cheeks, touching upon each bruise and cut. "I don't _want_ you to remember being hurt like that-"

Her words were muffled against Pete's bare chest as he pushed himself to a standing position and pulled her to him, wincing as her arms went around him but holding her as tightly as he could nonetheless. They stood that way for a long while, until Edie could feel the duck bumps on the man's skin and realized the room had cooled off from the warmth the shower had projected and that he needed to get some clothes on. She released him and tried to step away but he caught her lips in a tender kiss that quickly became demanding and rough and wonderful and she didn't want it to ever end but it did. The door was suddenly pushed open and Mrs. Henry stood there for a moment before rolling her eyes and suggesting the two of them "give it a rest so Mr. Gunn doesn't have a relapse". She handed Edie a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, telling her to "get them on the man and get him back out here" and heaved a long-suffering sigh as Pete hitched the towel further around his waist and managed to keep Edie between himself and the nurse. The older woman just shook her head in feigned annoyance.

"Don't worry, I've seen it all," she grumbled as the pulled the door about two-thirds of the way shut. "Whatever it is," she added beneath her breath but loud enough for both of them to hear. "You have five minutes. Don't make me come in after you."

Edie quickly unfolded the pajama pants and t-shirt and motioned for Pete to sit back down. She knelt down and helped him get his feet into the pant legs and told him to stand up and drop the towel. He stood but shifted uncomfortably and glanced through the partially open door. This time it was Edie who sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Peter Gunn," she chastised. "When did you turn into such a girl?"

She didn't realize her voice had carried until she heard Pop's loud guffaw from the other room. Edie was looking at Pete and grinning and he could feel the warmth suffuse his ears and didn't need her to point out the obvious to know they'd turned red.

"I'm not a girl," he muttered, grabbing the waist of the brown and tan pajama bottoms and pulling them up at the same time he released the towel.

"Could've fooled me," the woman teased, gently helping him get his arms into the soft white t-shirt before pulling it over his head for him. She smoothed it down the rest of the way so it hung over the top of the pants. Then she picked her sandals up from the floor with one hand, wrapped the fingers of the other around his hand and led him back into the other room.


	21. Chapter 21

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.**

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 21**

Pete's Plymouth Fury drove like a dream Frank Gunn discovered, deciding his son had a good eye not only for women but for automobiles. He found his way to Pete's apartment with no problem, retracing the route Emmett took when the young man drove him there several days ago. Just a few minutes after leaving the hospital he pulled the car into the same parking space the piano player had used, carefully locked the doors and made his way into the building and up to Pete's place. As he entered the apartment he had to admit to himself that it would feel good to have a real shower and fall asleep in a real bed.

He had been told by Edie as she accompanied him to the elevator that there was food in the refrigerator, fresh sheets were on the bed and his suitcases had been moved upstairs. She had also mentioned Lieutenant Jacoby's plan to visit with Pete during the afternoon. She'd been diffident about it, not coming right out and expressing any concerns that the visit might entail more than Jacoby had let on. Frank had considered staying but decided he didn't want to be an overbearing parent to his thirty-three year old son. Pete had been on his own since he had enlisted in the Army at age eighteen and been thrown headfirst into the conflict in the Pacific. He knew how to take care of himself. Pete wasn't his little boy anymore. He was a grown man living in an adult world. And he had an adult woman by his side to help him through difficult situations. Frank knew all of this in his heart. But he still told Edie to call him if she had concerns that things might get out of hand.

Turning the entryway light on Frank looked around. He hadn't taken much notice of the apartment the other day, hurrying instead to get a quick shower, put on fresh clothes and grab a few of his son's things before accompanying Emmett back to the hospital. It had a fresh open look and was very nicely decorated. But it seemed far too uncluttered to him. Pete was a neatnik, there would be no doubt about that in the mind of anyone who knew him to any extent, but the place seemed far too neat even for him. Then he remembered something Mother had mentioned on the way in from the airport the day he arrived in town, somewhere between lambasting him for the manner in which he'd treated Edie on the telephone and threatening him to within an inch of his life if he tried to rake her over the coals for not contacting him. Edie had stayed here at the apartment all the while Pete was missing and had spent an inordinate amount of time cleaning and organizing and rearranging. To keep herself busy Mother had said. To keep her mind occupied, to keep from dwelling on things and events and circumstances. Frank shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. He could only imagine what she had been going through.

Then he tried not to imagine. Instead he climbed the stairs to the bedroom and lifted his suitcases onto the double bed. The large one was filled with clothing and necessities he had grabbed and tossed in as he scrambled to get things together before heading to the airport. The smaller suitcase was one that had already been packed for the next time he had occasion to visit his son. It was filled with items of sentimental value, things that he wanted Pete to have, as well as things that belonged to Pete but were still at home. His home. It was time they found their rightful place.

Frank opened the smaller suitcase and pulled out several large shoe boxes, lids held in place with brown tape, and set them on the floor next to the dresser. He placed a couple smaller boxes and a cloth bag on top of the dresser then shut the suitcase and shoved it into the walk-in closet. Removing the clothing from the second suitcase, he placed his shirts and pants, underwear and socks on a shelf in the closet, carefully moving aside what was already there. It was as good a place as any to keep his things for the time being until Pete was released from the hospital.

Turning around he raised his eyebrows at the clothes hanging on the rack. How on earth could one man accumulate so many suits? He didn't try counting but he did recognize several as Don Richards suits. A few others looked very expensive and appeared to be personally tailored locally. There were Brooks Brothers shirts, all white and pressed, and ties by the dozen. At the back end of the rack were casual pants and shirts. Frank thought back to himself at Pete's age. He'd owned two suits, one work gray and the other funeral black. He hadn't been a clotheshorse, could not have afforded to be one. His son, on the other hand, certainly was and apparently could. Frank smiled and shook his head fondly. As he stepped out of the closet his glance fell on several dresses hanging at the front of the rack. Dressy dresses. A blue skirt and a white blouse and a ladies slip were nestled between the dresses and Pete's suits. A nightgown hung from a hook on the inside of the door. Frank clicked the closet door shut, grabbed a pair of pajamas he'd left on the bed and headed for the shower.

* * *

Dr. Carson gave his patient a good-natured smile and shook his head for a second time. Just because he'd been able to get out of bed, walk as far as the bathroom with the help of a nurse and take a shower with help from his girl didn't mean Peter Gunn was ready to go home. Not right this minute anyway. Besides, Carson wasn't planning on signing release papers for anyone on what was technically his day off. If things went well he'd consider releasing Pete sometime tomorrow morning. Another twenty-four hours should tell the story of whether he would be able to function satisfactorily outside of a hospital setting. But he wasn't about to tell the man that. It would most likely just make him antsy and he was already starting to get restless and fidgety. He would stop back by later this evening and have a talk with Miss Hart and with the elder Gunn to touch base as there would be several caveats related to his patient's possible discharge.

Both men looked up as Edie Hart came through the door after accompanying Pop to the elevator, making certain he went to Pete's apartment to get some sleep in much the same way as he had made her go home the previous evening. The blonde had one of those big smiles on her face, the one that said she was as happy as life would allow and nothing anyone could do or say would make her feel otherwise, which made Pete smile and want to jump up from his wheelchair and grab her and kiss her senseless. The smile remained on his face as Mother followed Edie into the room, Dr. Carson sneaking out at the same time after a smile and a nod for his patient. Pete pushed himself to a standing position slowly and carefully, Edie hovering close to his side, so he could wrap his arms around Mother as she gently grabbed him and held onto him.

"Hello, you rascal," the old woman said into his ear, tears quite evident in her voice. She patted his back and sniffled and as soon as she released him grabbed for the hankie in the big pocket of her dress to blow her nose.

Pete felt the stabbing prick of tears behind his own eyes. Mother wasn't the crying type, not on the outside anyway. In all the years he had known her he'd seen a tear slip down her weathered cheek twice, maybe three times. All those times following the deaths of long-time friends. For her to cry on his behalf...

Pete's eyes slid sideways to meet Edie's stare, her blue gaze encouraging as she read his slowly growing realization. He had been told he'd been in bad shape physically when he was admitted to the hospital. He'd asked questions about his condition and Dr. Carson had answered them. As had Edie, because she'd never lie to him or try to hide the truth from him. If he asked her something she gave him a direct answer, whether she wanted to or not. But seeing the tears on Mother's face suddenly had his mind grappling with the knowledge that things must have been much worse than be had thus far been able to comprehend. Something else he would have to blame on that fuzziness in his brain.

His attention was diverted by the warm feeling of Mother's hand under his chin and her gruff voice telling him how much better he looked than the last time she had been in to see him. He looked almost human she said. Pete smiled and admitted she could thank Edie and the doctor and nurses for that, he had nothing to do with it. When the woman pshawed him and patted his cheek he just grinned. He reached back for the arm of the wheelchair and sat down with the aid of Edie's hand guiding him. She pulled a chair close for Mother and one for herself right next to Pete.

"She shaved my face," he told Mother with a wink, running his fingers along his smooth cheek, deftly avoiding a few cuts that remained tender.

"Did a real good job too," Mother nodded, leaning forward and inspecting him closely. "If she ever loses her singing voice she'll have a career she can fall back on. I can just see the sign." The woman spread her hand out in a sweeping gesture. " _Edie's_ _Tonsorial_. In big bright neon letters, cursive style, not like _my_ old sign. She'd have the fellas lined up around the block." She smiled smugly at the frown that brought to Pete's face.

"Very funny." Edie's tone was sarcastic but she was smiling.

Mother chatted on and on, handing out gossip about Barney and the waitress Wendy and Emmett and the new girl he was dating. "We'll see how long this one lasts," she quipped. Emmett needed to find himself a nice girl who'd stick around, not like these flighty ones he always seemed to be going around with. He needed to find a girl like Pete, she said, drawing raised eyebrows from the other two. "You know what I mean, someone not in the business. Someone who'll help him broaden his interests, give more meaning to his life, get him away from that piano every once in a while." Mother gave a knowing smile when she saw Pete's hand creep across to Edie's where it rested in her lap but she didn't seem to notice when the PI lost interest about halfway through her discourse. His gaze became restless and wandered to the cards on the wall next to the bureau and then to the stack of envelopes that had been brought in earlier by one of the nurses and finally to the people bustling past the open door. He began to fidget and Edie turned her head to look at him when his hold on her hand tightened to the point that it became almost painful.

"Pete?" When she didn't get his attention the first time Edie said his name again, flexing her fingers where they were laced between his to try to get him to release his hold on her hand. His eyes met hers and he stared at her blankly.

"What?" A little frown shadowed his gaze and his fingers tightened further.

"Pete, you're hurting my hand." She spoke gently and wiggled her fingers. His gaze dropped to their clasped hands and he abruptly released hers upon realizing how tightly he was holding it. Pete rubbed his hand slowly along his leg, drying his perspiring palm on his pajama pants.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Is your headache back?"

"It really doesn't go away," the man shrugged. "Sometimes its just not as bad as others."

"Is there anything I can do?" Edie shifted a little in her chair to face him better, lifting her hand to the back of his neck and massaging the tense muscles she found there with gentle fingers. His chin found her shoulder and his forehead rubbed against the silkiness of her hair.

"You're here, that's enough." His eyes opened and followed Mother as she quietly got up from her chair and began taking the get well cards down from the wall, shuffling them together and placing them on the table with the others after giving the two of them a few minutes to themselves.

"I'll bet you haven't had a chance to look at all those," the woman gruffly said, lifting her big purse from the floor and hitching it over her broad shoulder in readiness to leave. "I need to skedaddle. I have some shopping to do and I want to stop by Gussie Warnecke's place before I head back to the club. I expect to see you back there real soon," she told Pete with a wink and an affectionate chuck under the chin.

Edie stood up, telling Mother she'd walk her to the elevator, and both women eyed Pete as he pushed to his feet and said the same thing. Knowing it would do no good to argue with him Edie curved a hand around his elbow and walked along beside him slowly up the hallway to the elevator. They watched the doors close behind Mother before making a left turn, Pete tugging Edie along to walk a circuit of the floor. As they turned the final corner and got close to the desk Edie looked up to find the eyes of a half dozen nurses watching their progress. Mrs. Henry leaned her arms on the counter, her eyes twinkling. The dark haired PI had his arm slung over the woman's shoulders and was moving at a slightly slower pace than when he had started out, his slippers dragging a little on the hard linoleum floor, but he had a smile on his face as he listened to something the pretty blonde was saying. Some of the bruises around his eyes were beginning to turn lighter shades of blue and gray and the cuts and abrasions were healing.

"You don't look half bad underneath all that scruff you had on your face," Mrs. Henry smiled indulgently, coming close to batting her eyelashes at the detective. "I forgot to mention that earlier when you were trying to hide behind Miss Hart," she teased.

With a smile of her own and a roll of her eyes Edie directed Pete toward the door of his room, giving a little backward flip of her hand when the middle-aged nurse said lunch was on its way up. A giggle from one of the other nurses followed the two of them into Pete's room. Edie shook her head, wondering not for the first time how her fella always managed to set the hearts of women aflutter without knowing or trying. Then she looked at him and didn't have to wonder. She knew. Her own heart had been aflutter since the moment she first laid eyes on the man. Pete wondered at her broad smile as she helped him settle in his wheelchair before grabbing the pile of get well cards and pulling her own chair closer to his. A giggle! Her eyes narrowed. It better not be that little redhead.

* * *

What in Sam Hill was a tampon? Frank Gunn held the small pink box closer and took a curious look at it. The cardboard was embellished with the picture of a pretty woman wearing a long flowing evening gown and the brand name Modess was printed in several places. In the lower right corner of the front of the box the contents were identified as Modess Tampons. Obviously one of those womanly items he wouldn't be acquainted with having been a widower for over fifteen years. Things certainly changed over time he idly thought as he opened the box and peered inside. Hmm. Suppositories? No, that couldn't be it. He pulled at a little folded sheet of paper and deftly removed it from the box. As he unfolded it he wished he had thought to bring his reading glasses upstairs with him instead of leaving them down on that little table with Pete's key ring. Glasses or not, Frank quickly scanned what turned out to be an instruction pamphlet _. It might take a little time and patience... easy to insert... fully relaxed... slide gently into the –_ What?! A small illustration caught his eye. Oh my goodness! He quickly stuck the paper back inside the box and shoved it into the cabinet where he had found it, right next to to another box proclaiming to be Kotex, catching a glance of his own embarrassed face in the mirror as he did so. Frank took a deep breath and loudly released it.

Toothpaste. All he wanted was _toothpaste_. Why oh why had he forgotten to throw a tube into his travel case? So far he had found everything he _wasn't_ looking for. Deodorant, cologne, Listerine mouthwash, soap, a tube of Prell shampoo, Kleenex, dental floss. He sighed in exasperation. You'd think the toothpaste would be with the mouthwash and the floss. But no. Or next to the glass with the two toothbrushes in it. Again, no. Because that would be just too easy wouldn't it? Maybe the medicine cabinet? He pulled open the door and peered inside. A tube of hand lotion, cough medicine, Vicks, eye drops, several straight razors, Vaseline, nail polish, Blue Star ointment. A prescription bottle with Edie Hart's name on the label. Frank squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He wasn't going to look. It wasn't his business. He wasn't _that_ nosy was he? Especially not after those other _things_ he'd found because he'd just had to investigate. He couldn't help himself. He knew that. Inordinate curiosity was one of his biggest failings and often tended to get him into trouble. Just like his boy. Pete most certainly had inherited that trait from him. He opened his eyes and picked up the little bottle and looked at it. An antibiotic for an inner ear infection to be taken twice a day for seven days. He sighed in relief and didn't know why. The bottle was empty and the prescription had been filled almost six months ago. He set it back on the shelf in the medicine cabinet and closed the door. On the counter near the sink was a bottle of aftershave and a Sunbeam electric shaver. Still no toothpaste.

He frowned as his thoughts returned unbidden to the prescription bottle. If she'd been taking the antibiotic twice a day for seven days what was the empty bottle doing in Pete's medicine cabinet? It was one of those pills that was taken with food. She would have been taking it at breakfast and- _Stop! Don't go there_ , Frank told himself. _Not your business._ Good grief! It wasn't as if he was unaware that the relationship between his son and the pretty blonde was intimate in nature. They were sleeping together. They were having sex. There! He could say it to himself without flinching. He just didn't want to know about it. Not this close up anyway. When he was at his own home a thousand miles away he wasn't reminded of it, didn't think about it, wasn't concerned about it because it didn't stare him in the face at every turn. But here it was obvious. Like at the hospital this morning when she had helped Pete shower. And it wasn't as if he was a prude either. He just hadn't been brought up that way. Good boys and good girls waited until they were married. Of course that was easy enough if you got married at an early age like he had.

But Pete was thirty-three and Edie was in her late twenties... and he really needed to talk to his boy about his intentions toward this girl and when he planned to make an honest woman out of her... and whether they were being as careful as they could be because he didn't want to become a grandpa before he was a father-in-law... and were the problems Pete had told them they were having over with or would they come back to haunt them in the future... and was that the telephone ringing...? Frank attempted to put a stop to his mental rambling as he grabbed at the phone on the bedside table.

It was Edie. Should he apologize for finding her tampons? Frank rolled his eyes in disgust at himself. He could really be a goofus sometimes. She was talking again so he decided he'd better listen.

"Did I wake you up?" He thought he could detect a thread of worry in her voice.

"No, no, I was just-" He cleared his throat. "I just took a shower and put my pajamas on and and was looking-"

"Lieutenant Jacoby is here. He's in visiting with Pete."

"By himself?" Frank ran a hand through his hair.

"No. Dr. Carson is in the room. I came out to the nurses station to call you." A low hum filled the line for a few seconds. "I'm worried about Pete. He was doing really well until the Lieutenant showed up. We looked through his cards and after lunch we tried playing some rummy. But when Lieutenant Jacoby came in it was like Pete just closed up. He stopped smiling and stopped talking and just seemed to- to- crawl _into_ himself. I don't know how to explain it and I don't know what to do."

"I'm on my way." Frank picked up the telephone and carried it with him as he headed for the closet to grab fresh clothes.

"I didn't want to bother you but I'm afraid the Lieutenant might say something-"

"I'm on my way," the elder Gunn repeated. "Calling me was the right thing to do. I'll be there in just a few minutes." He tossed socks and underwear onto the bed and began to unbutton his pajama shirt. "Oh. And Edie?"

"Yes?"

"Where's the toothpaste?"


	22. Chapter 22

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.**

 _Thanks to Melchy for a few good words and thoughts delivered following the previous chapter. Large oaks from tiny acorns grow. It's the same with ideas when you're stuck and looking for an angle from which to write.  
_

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 22**

Peter Gunn couldn't shake the feeling that washed over him the very moment Lieutenant Jacoby walked into the room. If asked he would have found it difficult to describe, but it was almost as though he was suffocating. Almost as if someone had pulled a plastic bag down over his head and slowly siphoned out the air, leaving him gasping for breath and for something else he couldn't define. Something hiding at the back of his mind, lurking like those glowing green monsters that had invaded his dreams when he was a little kid, sending him running through the open doorway of his bedroom, through the monsters themselves, and down the hall to the hallowed safety of the bed where Mom and Pop lay sleeping. It had been a long time since the memories of those nightmares had clawed their way into his consciousness, years upon years, but suddenly there they were again. And he wished he was back in that big bed from all those years ago, huddled beneath the blankets, secure in the embrace of the two people in the world who loved him most.

Jacoby was talking, his soft voice the only distinct sound in the room. If there were any background noises Pete didn't hear them. The policeman sat forward in his chair, fingers gripping his hat and deftly tipping and turning it as he spoke, his eyes moving between it and Pete's face. Jacoby didn't get nervous, he didn't fidget like the PI did, but on this particular September afternoon he was getting awfully close to that point. Pete eyed him curiously, not really listening as the cop seemed to drone on, his own mind elsewhere. For some reason he was unable to rid himself of those monstrous visitors in the night that had crept back into his head.

He had met them again. Recently. Somehow he knew that. It was part of that _something_ hiding at the back of his mind. He had tried running through those same monsters again but this time it didn't work. He never reached that haven of comfort, never felt the safety of those loving arms wrapped around him, hugging him, calming his fears, wiping away tears. This time those monsters were stronger than he was and he was wasn't able to slip through. This time they caught hold of him. They grabbed him and they wouldn't let go. And they did to him what he was afraid those monsters of long ago were going to do. The feeling of suffocation morphed into a sensation of drowning as he was surrounded by those hulking creatures. Then came extraordinary fear and then blind panic as pain engulfed him and then blackness and nothingness.

Memory was knocking at the door but it couldn't quite make it through that door. Pete felt the sound of Jacoby's voice penetrate the fog of his mind. He actually _felt_ the quiet vibrations coming at him. His gaze dropped to the policeman's lips as he spoke about inconsequential things, as he mentioned something funny that had happened at home and an odd experience with a new case he was working on. His lips kept moving as he continued his one-sided conversation. Then suddenly the movement of his lips changed. His mouth opened and closed in an odd manner, slowly, like that of a goldfish in a glass bowl. The detective frowned. It was still Jacoby's voice he heard but this time they were in the policeman's office. Jacoby was sitting behind his desk. He was talking about a different case, was asking him for some help, wanted to know if he would talk to some people for him. Pete frowned harder. His head was throbbing. It was as though something was inside, kicking at his skull, trying to fight its way out. He felt sick.

"I'm really sorry, Pete. I want you to know that."

Pete was jerked back to the present by the sound of his name falling from Lieutenant Jacoby's lips. He stared at the policeman, the bile rising in his throat. This wasn't right. Jacoby was his friend. He'd known him for years. Why did he feel this way? He tried to concentrate as the Lieutenant continued to speak. But he couldn't understand what the other man was saying. He stared at him blankly, the words coming out of Jacoby's mouth a jumble of unintelligible noise. He tried to say something but when he did the bile in his throat rose even higher until he felt he might gag. The feeling of suffocation returned and suddenly Dr. Carson was standing beside him, helping him to stand up and leading him into the bathroom where he quickly fell to his knees and lost his lunch in the toilet.

* * *

Jacoby dropped his hat onto the seat of his chair as he stood and watched the bathroom door swing shut behind Pete and the doctor. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen the other man subtly trying to get his attention but he had forged on tenaciously, suddenly desperate to have Pete understand that he hadn't intended for him to get hurt, to almost die simply because he had been helping him. Because he had asked him to do a favor and Pete had done what he always did. He'd said yes. Jacoby felt guilty. Beyond guilty if that was possible. His actions, and in some instances his lack of action, would have been a contributing factor had his friend been killed. And that was something he would have had to live with for the rest of his life. Jacoby wasn't sure he would have been able to do that. It was bad enough just knowing what Pete had gone through at the hands of Pauly Denner and his goons.

The policeman's gaze slid to the door leading from the corridor as Edie Hart pushed it all the way open and stepped into the room, a white ceramic coffee cup in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. She set both items on the tray next to the bed before sending a concerned glance his way. It was the first time they'd been alone together, never mind that Pete and the doctor were in the next room, since Pete's first day in the hospital.

"Where's Pete?" Edie looked toward the bathroom at Jacoby's nod in that direction.

"The doctor's in there with him."

"Why? What happened?" Her blue stare met his as she awaited his response, a frisson of worry shooting through her insides, the beginnings of a confused frown forming.

Jacoby shifted uncomfortably. He didn't understand why he was so ambivalent toward this woman. He'd known her for over a year now, since the previous July when Pete had introduced her to him. The surprise he'd felt at that time spontaneously swept over him as he stood there returning her gaze. He'd been flummoxed. Much as he hated to he had to admit that to himself. He hadn't thought she was Pete's type then and maybe he still didn't think she was his type. But he guessed that was Pete's business, not his. It wasn't that he didn't like Edie Hart. He just didn't understand her. He guessed he knew what his friend saw in her. She was pretty and she was well built. She had a sense of humor. She had a nice voice and was a good singer. And Pete loved her. There was absolutely no question about that. Maybe his hesitancy came from his concern that while she was all those things to Pete, she might not be as deeply invested in the relationship as he was. The past few weeks should have absolved him of those thoughts but for some reason he couldn't force his mind to accept that. Maybe he was allowing his wife's weird ideas to influence him again. The policeman sighed and ran a hand over his thinning hair.

"I just wanted Pete to know how sorry I am about what happened."

Edie continued to stare at Jacoby as her mind absorbed what he said, the meaning behind what he _didn't_ say becoming clear when he didn't continue. He'd said something to Pete, something that he shouldn't have, something that he'd been warned against. That much was obvious from the self-censure she read in his eyes. After everything Dr. Carson had said to him before he came in to visit Pete, after being forcefully reminded that Pete had no memory of what had happened to him, that the PI would remember in his own time and at his own pace, that he wasn't to mention anything concerning his friend's ordeal, Jacoby had said something anyway. He might not have had to say much. An offhand comment that in any other circumstance would be meaningless. The simple mention of a name. Anything might have triggered a response.

"What did you say to him?" Her words were worried more than anything else.

"I mentioned the conversation he and I had in my office," the policeman said. "When I asked him to talk to those two hoods," he elaborated. He listened to the silence and he watched Edie's face and he waited for a reaction. When it finally came it wasn't what he expected. She didn't yell, she didn't chew him out. She just looked at him guardedly and spoke in a calm voice, her words almost too low for him to hear.

"How could you?" The woman murmured. Not in an accusing manner. Not insultingly. "After what the doctor said... Pete was out there helping you, doing you a favor because you're his friend." Edie's lips moved silently as she struggled to find words. "Couldn't you have just stopped being the cop for once and treated him that way? As your friend?"

He didn't know why her gentle response made him so very angry. It just did.

"You know what?" Jacoby's voice was as soft as always but the words that came out of his mouth spilled out unfiltered. He couldn't stop them. He heard them himself as they passed his lips and he knew they were wrong and hurtful and untrue and they caused his stomach to churn and he recognized the sudden anguish in the woman's eyes as he said them, but he didn't seem to have any control over himself or his thoughts or his speech. "Maybe if you had been around he wouldn't have been at such loose ends all the time. Maybe he wouldn't have been so willing to help me out when I asked him to. _Maybe_ I wouldn't have asked him to do me that favor at all. And he would never have gotten himself beaten half to death by those thugs and we wouldn't have found him on his last breath in the trunk of that car in that dirty warehouse. And we wouldn't be standing here having this stupid conversation." He took a breath and continued, unable to put a halt to the flow of words. "But you weren't there were you? Instead you were probably off sulking somewhere because you'd thrown him over and he didn't come running back to you like you wanted... and you suddenly realized you'd tossed out the best thing that ever happened to you."

The silence was deafening. Jacoby had heard that phrase throughout his entire life but this was the first time he had experienced it first hand.

Where did all that come from? He didn't mean it. Surely she knew he didn't mean any of that. He was just upset and angry over the injustice of it all and felt guilty as hell at what his friend had gone through and he had just wanted Pete to know that, to understand that. His best friend. A man in a job like his didn't make many friends and those that he _had_ made he cherished to no end. He and the PI didn't have the best friend relationship that you would find as defined in a dictionary or thesaurus. It was something more, it was at a higher level. And he might have just ruined that forever. He hadn't meant those things he said at all. They had just come out at the spur of the moment, the raw emotions that he had tried so hard to contain during his search for his friend finally boiling over when he least expected it to happen. He had to make her see that.

But it was too late. Even as he reached out his hand in entreaty, even as he opened his mouth to apologize, to take the words back. Edie was staring at him, her blue eyes wide with shock, with disbelief at what he was implying. He saw the tears gather in her eyes as she took an involuntary step backwards, he caught a glimpse of her face crumpling with pain as she stumbled through the door and out into the hallway. He tried to follow her. He really did. But his feet seemed glued to the floor. By the time he regained his equilibrium and went after her she had disappeared.

* * *

He heard Carson talking, telling him not to worry, it was just a result of the concussion. They'd discussed the symptoms he might continue to experience over the coming weeks. Did he remember that? The detective nodded weakly, that simple movement causing his insides to roil. He managed to avoid being sick again and after a few minutes cautiously stood up and leaned against the sink. He saw his face in the mirror, pale and perspiring. He felt better and his mind was clearer but his head continued to throb.

Pete grabbed the bottle of hospital-issued mouthwash and took a large swig, swishing it around in his mouth until he could no longer taste the bitterness then spitting it into the sink. When his legs ceased trembling he pushed away from the sink and walked ahead of the doctor into his room, praying he could make it to his wheelchair without stumbling and falling flat on his face. He managed to do just that, folding himself slowly into the chair as he glanced around and wondered at the emptiness of the room. Jacoby was gone although his hat lay on the chair he'd been occupying. Edie had never returned from getting the coffee she'd promised him, a first-time treat of his hospital stay. Something about caffeine. But there was a mug of coffee on the tray situated between the bed and his chair. There was also a sheet of paper which he picked up, a menu of the hospital's evening meals. Another treat? He'd not received a menu before. So Edie must have been there, must have returned while he and the doctor were otherwise occupied.

Mrs. Henry stuck her head in the door and asked if everything was all right. Her eyes shifted between Dr. Carson and his patient. Carson answered in the affirmative but his face seemed troubled. He wondered at the nurse's question. Following her out into the hall as Pete got himself situated, he was told that Miss Hart had gone rushing off down the hallway like the devil himself was chasing after her. The policeman had followed a few seconds later, obviously looking for her as he almost jogged toward the elevator.

As the doctor and nurse stood quietly talking Lieutenant Jacoby appeared from around the corner and slowly approached them. He looked like he'd just run a marathon. His face was perspiring, his tie was askew and he was breathing heavily. He swiped at the sweat and looked at his hand then wiped it dry on his pants as he threw a despondent glance at the nurse.

"I don't suppose she came back?" He grimaced when Mrs. Henry shook her head, his head tipping back and his eyes finding the ceiling. He closed them briefly, sending up a silent prayer that things wouldn't get any worse, then snapped to attention as the sound of the elevator doors opening echoed along the hallway. The policeman felt his stomach drop when Frank Gunn stepped out and began walking in their direction.

"Oy." Jacoby had a feeling this next conversation wasn't going to end well. Gunn had a mediocre impression of him to begin with. It wasn't going to get any better.

* * *

She wouldn't have left the building. Frank knew that as surely as he knew his own name. Beyond that he had absolutely no idea where the woman might be. The girl who held his son's very heart in her hands. Girl. Woman. It was difficult to figure where the one ended and the other began. He'd learned a lot about Edie Hart in the short time he'd been here. She was complicated, as most women were. She was also independent and headstrong and bewitching and compassionate and exasperating. And she very obviously loved his son with the maturity and relentlessness and completeness of a full-grown woman. On the other hand she could be awkward and unsophisticated and flirtatious and puzzling and girlish and sometimes exhibited a childlike innocence that couldn't help but bring a smile to his face. It was no wonder Pete was so crazy about her.

Pushing the door open at the second floor landing Frank took a quick look up and down the hallway. Nothing seemed out of sorts. No helter-skelter looks from the folks he saw moving about. He stepped out of the stairwell and walked a circuit of the floor, peering into waiting rooms and empty rooms and meeting rooms, everywhere but the ladies rooms, and finding no trace of a runaway blonde. Arriving back at his starting point he stepped back into the stairwell and moved down the steps to the first floor landing. Next to the elevators as he exited onto the floor he found the big sign that pointed visitors in whatever direction they needed or wanted to go. He scanned it and stood irresolute for a moment then made a decision and turned on his heel and headed past the reception desk in the direction he elected. Frank continued to glance into each waiting room he passed, peered into the cafeteria and looked through each doorway leading outside to steps and sitting areas. His chosen destination was where he ultimately found her.

Edie Hart felt the cushion dip as Frank Gunn settled down next to her on the pew. She was sitting toward the back of the small, softly lit hospital chapel, eyes staring fixedly forward to the small altar and the single stained glass window behind it. Bright sunlight streamed through the window, its rays casting a multi-hued glow upon the wooden cross stationed in front of the window as well as on the church chaplain as he completed the brief one o'clock service with a short prayer. Edie really couldn't find the energy to kneel and once she felt Pop's arm slip along the back of the pew to embrace her shoulders she found she didn't want to move. They sat that way for a long while following the service, neither saying anything, a companionable silence settling over them. Finally the woman stirred and looked for the hour but discovered she wasn't wearing her watch.

"What time is it?" She sighed tiredly when Frank told her it was a little after two. "Pete will probably be wondering where I am."

"Probably," the man benignly agreed.

"He'll begin to think I'm like that man who told his wife he was going to the grocery store to pick up a pack of cigarettes and then never came back."

They both chuckled at the old joke. Frank's laugh was accompanied by an amused smile. Edie's laugh quickly turned to tears and a sniffle.

"It was so stupid," she choked out. The tears came faster as Pop wrapped his arm more securely around her shoulders and pulled her close, his other arm encircling her waist as he turned slightly toward her, her head dropping to the curve of his neck. "What I did to Pete... It was so stupid."

"It wasn't stupid," Frank soothed, settling his chin on the top of her head. "It was just one of those things that happens. Every relationship has its ups and downs, believe me. If the past few months is the worst thing that ever happens between the two of you then you can consider yourselves luckier than most. A lot of couples go through less and never find their way back to each other again."

"Pete told you what happened." It was a statement, not a question. Edie felt him nod and lifted her head, wiping at the tears with one hand as Frank reached into his shirt pocket and handed her his handkerchief. "So you know the whole sordid story," she half joked.

"Pete told me about it last night when he had trouble sleeping." The elder Gunn smiled slightly at her questioning look. "I knew something had been on his mind. Sometimes a man just wants to get something off his chest. And sometimes a father is lucky enough to be there for his son to talk to." His expression turned serious as he continued. "Life is short. When two people love each other a relationship, marriage... it deserves a lifetime. What's a couple months in the grand scheme of things? In another fifty years it will just be one of those long ago memories that you laugh about and ask each other how you could have been such idiots. _Both_ of you," he stressed. "He realizes he made mistakes, that you both share the blame for what happened."

"He said there was a reason he was working so much, taking all those jobs. Always being away." Edie said. "But we haven't really talked about it. I should have just asked him. Talked to him before..." She gave a damp chuckle. "But he was never there to talk to." She scrubbed at her cheeks with the handkerchief and said simply, "I missed him."

"You know, honey – and I apologize if this sounds corny – love, _real_ love between two people, isn't like a fairy tale. It doesn't always begin with once upon a time and it doesn't always end with happily ever after. There's an awful lot of muck you have to work your way through to be successful at it." Frank squeezed her shoulder. "Take it from someone who's been there – it's a lot easier and much more rewarding when you do it together."

He watched as Edie neatly folded the handkerchief and carefully returned it to his shirt pocket for him.

"As for all that extra work Pete was taking on," Frank Gunn's narrow shoulders lifted in a shrug. He wasn't going to let on that Pete had told him a few things Edie wasn't aware of. That was for the two of them to sort out between themselves. "You know my son as well as I do. There's a reason for everything and everything has its reason. Now," Frank shifted on the pew, removing his arm from around her shoulders and giving her knee a pat. "Do you want to talk to me about whatever it was Lieutenant Jacoby said that had you so upset?"

Edie shook her head and turned her gaze to an elderly couple walking up the aisle to a front pew, smiling softly at their joined hands and how closely they sat as they settled on the pew. She wondered what brought them here. "Maybe later," she eventually told him.

"Jacoby's an odd sort isn't he?" the man mused. "I haven't quite been able to figure him out yet."

"Join the club," he heard the woman murmur.

"I get the distinct impression that you and he don't have the best of relationships."

"I'm not sure _what_ our relationship is," Edie admitted. "Some days I love him and other days I think I hate him. And I'm pretty certain the feeling is mutual."

"So why do you put up with him?"

"He's Pete's friend," she answered, showing him a wry smile. It was as simple as that.

Frank gave a muffled snort and leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he looked at her and suggested they head back upstairs. Pete would be wondering where Edie was, he wasn't even aware that his Pop had returned to the hospital, and Dr. Carson mentioned earlier that he wanted to have a conversation about Pete with the two of them sometime this afternoon or evening. If he was still around this was as good a time as any. When Edie told him to go on ahead, that she'd follow in a few minutes, Frank nodded. He was quiet for a long moment, still sitting in the same position, his blue gaze resting where Edie's had earlier, on the stained glass window and the wooden cross.

"Pete's mom – Elizabeth," he glanced at Edie and away again. "She was something else. There never has been and there never will be another woman like her. Not for me. I'd tell you that you have no idea how much I loved her but I'd be lying, because I know beyond any doubt that you love Pete just as much. You two have a very special relationship." He sat up straight and leaned against the back of the oak pew and turned his head to look straight into Edie's eyes as he continued in a soft voice. "God couldn't have given me a better son. And God couldn't have given my son a better woman than the one I hope to call my daughter-in-law one day."

Frank gave a crooked smile as he saw the sheen of tears well up in the girl's eyes. Then he leaned sideways and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before grabbing the back of the pew in front of them and pulling himself to his feet.

"Don't be too long," he winked at her as he stepped away toward the door. "You know how fidgety that boy gets about things. If you don't show back up pretty soon he might decide to come looking for you himself in that wheelchair of his. I don't think the poor hospital has insurance enough to cover what might happen if he does."

Edie's gaze remained on his back as he walked through the doorway and then paused and turned around to look at her. His gaze was thoughtful and compassionate and held some knowledge she wasn't sure of until he spoke again.

"What happened to Pete wasn't your fault." Frank's voice was soft and steady. "I know that, you know that, Pete knows that. That's all that matters." He shook his head. "Pete does what Pete does. If he doesn't want to do something he doesn't do it. He's his own man, and sometimes that comes back to bite him, but that's just the way it is."

He watched Edie closely as she digested his words, then crooked his right eyebrow in silent interrogation and held out his hand, smiling as she stood up and joined him in the weary walk that would lead them back to Pete. The two people in the world that loved him most.


	23. Chapter 23

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.**

 _A special thanks to Melchy for several suggestions that appear in this chapter and the next. Anything to make Pete happy!_

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 23**

Peter Gunn walked slowly and gingerly into his apartment, moving under his own power but glad for the unobtrusive support of the two people who accompanied him. Yesterday when Dr. Carson told him that he'd be released this morning he had listened with mixed emotions. He hadn't been home in two weeks and he remembered only a few days out of those fourteen. He hadn't known what to expect once he got back to the familiarity of his own apartment. Had whatever it was that happened to him started there? Would stepping through the doorway bring back memories of events he might not want to remember? It hurt his head just thinking about it, brought on that pounding headache that had become so much a part of him over the past several days. Edie's words from yesterday morning came back to him. She said she didn't want him to remember. Maybe she was the smart one. Perhaps ignorance truly _was_ bliss.

His hand found the wall for support as he took the step down into the living room and glanced around. No matter the circumstances that found him here he was very glad to be home. After all, home was where the heart was. He turned his head to look at Edie. Or in his case, where the Hart was. Pete gave a snort at his own funny and a satisfied smile crossed his face as he watched Edie set a couple bags and her purse next to the bar. She straightened and glanced at him curiously and his smile dimmed a little. He had been worried about her yesterday when she'd finally reappeared in his room, especially when he'd seen Pop accompanying her. Pop, who had supposedly gone home to get some rest. He could tell Edie had been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her nose was shiny. When she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door and he heard water running in the sink he'd tried to ask Pop what was wrong. Pop had looked at him and told him to let it be. Just like when he was a kid and something was going on that he didn't understand. _Just let it be, son. If you're meant to know you'll know_. But this was Edie and he wasn't a little kid anymore and if she was hurting then he wanted to know why. Last time she'd been hurting he'd let it be. He wouldn't make that same mistake again. It had ended up causing more pain and more misunderstanding and more distance between them than he ever wanted to experience again.

Pete's musings came to an end as Edie stepped past him, taking his hand in hers in the process and leading him further into the living room. She asked if he noticed anything different. He could have told her that he noticed she was here, in his apartment, which was different from the past several months when he'd been here by himself, alone. But he didn't. Instead he followed her eyes and looked where she looked. The easy chair he normally called his own was gone. In its place was a reclining chair. Pete's eyebrows rose and his smile returned. His hand left hers as he stepped over to the light beige BarcaLounger positioned near the sofa. He reached out and felt of the cushioned fabric and admired the head pillow before gingerly sitting down on the edge of the seat and running his hands along the plush arms of the chair. He looked up at Edie.

"Where did this come from?"

"Jordan's Furniture delivered it this morning. Barney helped me pick it out," she told him, sitting down on the nearby coffee table and handing him some brochures and a catalog that she'd tossed there when the chair had been delivered at just after nine. She grinned. "Remember when he told everyone his life had become too dull and humdrum and he bought that new furniture for his apartment because he decided he was going to be a new man?" She looked up at Frank Gunn as he came back down from carrying his son's things upstairs to the bedroom. "For two weeks he talked about nothing else but his new reclining chair and he made us all go over to his place to see it." Edie shifted her gaze back to the man in the chair. "I knew how much you liked it so when Dr. Carson said you had to take things easy for a while I thought it would be a nice thing for you to have."

Pete watched as her eyes clouded at the memory of the Sunday afternoon they'd all met at Barney's and he instinctively knew what she was thinking. That had been just a couple of weeks prior to their breakup. He got to his feet, wincing at the short stab of pain that radiated along his ribs, and pulled her roughly into his arms, hugging her as tightly as he was able, his chin resting in the curve of her neck. Her arms crept around him, her hands moving along his back, her fingers clinging to the dark blue sweater he'd worn home from the hospital. After a moment or two he felt her smile and then she leaned back and looked into his face.

"So you like it?"

"I love it," he answered, staring straight into her eyes, the inflection of his words telling her he wasn't just referring to the chair. He gave her a not very chaste kiss before settling his chin back in the curve of her shoulder.

Edie gazed over that shoulder at the other occupant of the room. While the two of them were busy Pop had folded himself into the BarcaLounger and reclined the chair and was now leafing through one of the brochures, reading glasses perched on his nose.

"So does someone else apparently," she teased, her words directed at both men.

"It says here that this chair is an adventure in relaxation," Frank Gunn said. "In as little as fifteen minutes your bunched up muscles and nerves can be relaxed."

" _My_ muscles and nerves," Pete said without turning around.

"As little as fifteen minutes fully reclined helps to restore energy," Pop read from a second brochure. He stretched out his legs and leaned further back, dropping his reading material to his lap and folding his arms behind his head.

"Get out of my chair," Pete warned with a mock frown as he turned to face his dad, his arm slung around Edie's shoulders to afford himself a little extra support following the walk up from the car.

"I just might need to get one of these myself," Pop said, winking at Edie. "Older fellas like me suffer from bunched up nerves and muscles too, you know." He waved his hand at the two of them. "You kids run along and do what you need to do. I toted everything upstairs." He felt of one shoulder and rubbed at it and groaned. "That must've been how my muscles got so bunched up. I'll just relax here for about fifteen minutes and break in your new chair while I restore my energy." He smiled and closed his eyes.

* * *

Edie placed Pete's shampoo and shaving cream and other personal hygiene items back where they belonged in the bathroom then entered the bedroom with his travel bag. Still in the bag were the personal items that had been returned by Lieutenant Jacoby. She had all but forgotten about them until she began to gather Pete's things together before he was released. She had quickly placed everything in the bottom of the bag while he was engaged in conversation with Dr. Carson, surprised he hadn't mentioned them or asked about them considering his fastidiousness about such things. When she asked the doctor about returning the items to Pete she had been advised that they were his things and he would eventually ask about them so she might as well just give them to him when the opportunity arose. She supposed she might as well get it over with.

Pete was sitting on the bedroom chair. He had exchanged the trousers he'd worn home for a pair of pajama bottoms and had a t-shirt lying on his lap and was awaiting Edie's help to pull it over his head. His ribs hurt worse than he could remember and his head didn't feel much better. He wouldn't mind a pain pill but he didn't want to go overboard with them. He watched Edie place his travel bag on the bed and then reach inside several times to remove a number of items and lay them on the quilt.

She placed the insurance receipt to one side to take downstairs and file away and then showed Pete the laundry ticket and asked what needed to be picked up, telling him she'd take care of it tomorrow. Picking up his comb she walked over and ran it through his hair, being careful of the still tender area on the back of his head, telling him he certainly needed a haircut and promising to stop by the barber shop while she ran errands the next day to ask Johnnie if he wouldn't mind stopping by the apartment to give him a trim. Pete just smiled and pulled her to stand between his knees as she continued her ministrations with the comb he normally carried in his right inside suit pocket. When his hair was to her liking she dropped the comb on the nightstand.

Edie separated out his watch, cuff links and cigarette lighter from the remaining items and placed them in the tray on the dresser. Her fingers lingered on the cuff links with the stylized black capital Gs and black edging.

"I'd hate to lose those, they're my favorite pair." Pete gave her a half smile as she turned her head to look at him. "Some blonde cutie gave them to me for Christmas. They mean a lot to me." His eyes searched hers.

Edie reached out a hand to touch his face, her smile tender.

Pete dragged his gaze away from hers and picked up the t-shirt from his lap, letting it unfold as he stuck his arms through the sleeves. Edie grabbed the edge of the shirt and pulled it over his head and straightened it down his back and front. Then before he had time to react her hand slid to the back of his neck and she bent and captured his lips with hers, kissing him solidly and with a fierce hunger that she had only ever felt with him, that he brought out in her as no other man ever had, that she hadn't even known existed before she met him. He grabbed her arms and pushed himself up from the chair, their lips never parting, their kiss deepening with desire and passion and want and need and love and every other undefinable emotion that had lain bottled up inside both of them for the past weeks and months. Almost in desperation he tightened his arms around her and turned with her, backing her against the closed closet door, glad for its firm support as he leaned into her, afraid to let her go, afraid that this might turn into another one of those dreams, one of those times when he allowed himself to let her into his head while knowing she wasn't really there.

But she _was_ here this time. There was no mistaking the smooth softness of her skin as his hands delved underneath her blouse, the puckering of her nipples as he pushed her lacy bra out of the way and cupped her breasts, the firm roundness of her bottom as he reached down and pulled her closer. And there was absolutely no mistaking his own body's physical response to the woman in his arms. He pulled his lips from hers and buried his face in the sweet curve of her shoulder, very much aware that this was going no further yet aching to feel himself inside her, longing to take her to bed and make love to her until they were both too exhausted to move. He smiled at the thought. Smiled too when he felt Edie's hands move from his shoulders to the back of his head, her fingers gently weaving through his hair and feathering along his neck.

"I really love you _very_ much." Her voice was a soft breath in his ear.

Pete lifted his head and found himself staring into the deep blue of her eyes. That had become their mantra. Those words. And it had been much too long since he'd last heard them. He liked their sound. He had since the very first time they had slipped from her lips in just that manner, that rainy September night on the dock behind _Mother's_ , almost exactly a year ago, barely two weeks after they had crossed that final line and made love among the warm tangled sheets of her bed. It hadn't been the first time she told him she loved him. She hadn't been at all shy in letting him know her feelings for him. And she hadn't been shy in proving it to him. But he had been ashamed because it had been the first time he'd said the words back. Not because he didn't love her. Because he did. Not because he didn't already know, had known from the very moment he first laid eyes on her, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Because he did. He had been afraid to say the words. It was as simple as that, or as complicated, depending on which way you looked at it. He wasn't afraid of loving her. He was afraid of hurting her. Afraid that she'd get hurt because of him, because of who he was, because of what he did for a living, because of the sordid class of people he was often involved with.

He dipped his head and kissed her softly, their lips clinging as he drew back.

"I really love _you_ very much."

He watched her expression as she gazed at him, her face so serious, her eyes searching his and obviously finding what she was looking for because her lips curved into a smile. One of those big slow smiles that made his heart pound and his pulse quicken because it was the prettiest smile he knew and it belonged to him and him alone. He pulled Edie close again and they stood there for several minutes, neither moving until she reluctantly disentangled herself from his arms. He sat back down in the chair and watched her as she resumed her task, taking delight in the fact that he could.

When she turned toward him again she held a gun in her hand.

Edie was saying something but he didn't hear what it was. All he saw was the gun. The shiny blue steel of the barrel was pointed to the floor as she held the butt gingerly with her fingers.

 _You're gonna feel my hurt._

"I don't know what happened to the holster. It wasn't with your things when they were returned." Edie waited for Pete to say something but he didn't. He didn't even look at her. His gaze was locked on the .38 Colt revolver.

 _And after that I'm gonna put this gun in your ear and blow your brains out._

"Pete?"

 _So tell me something, Gunn._

He could almost feel the hard steel of the gun barrel pressing against his jaw, pushing, punishing, probably leaving a bruise. He could smell the acrid odor of his own sweat as it began to seep from his pores. For one of the few times in his life he experienced the fearful dread of impending doom. Pete thought he heard someone say his name but a loud buzzing noise filled his ears and his head and his brain and he was unable to pull his gaze from the revolver, was unable to feel anything except the loud burgeoning thump of his heart and the ragged breaths that were forcing themselves up from his lungs. The pounding in his head kept time with the pounding of his heart, each dull beat making the pain worse until he felt like his head might explode.

 _You got a girl?_

The gun moved.

 _I guess you won't mind if I give her a call...or maybe pay her a visit._

And he moved with it.

Pete bolted from his chair, pain forgotten, feeling nothing but terror and fear and anger as he lunged forward, one hand reaching out to grapple with the weapon while the other grabbed at the person holding it. There was the sound of something crashing to the floor, a loud splintering noise as it broke apart. He felt a body beneath his as they both toppled heavily onto the bed, sensed the revolver flying to the floor and bouncing and tumbling along the carpet and coming to an abrupt stop against the wall.

He didn't hear the footsteps pounding up the stairs. Nor did he see the anxious look on Frank Gunn's face as the man hurried into the bedroom, only to pause suddenly and stare at the two people on the bed and wonder if he'd inadvertently interrupted something. Pop would laugh hilariously about that later, much to Pete's chagrin. But not now. Not as he noticed the revolver on the floor and the table lamp lying broken beside the nightstand.

Pete lay there, elbows digging into the bed as his head slowly cleared, as his heartbeat calmed, as his breathing became easier. The buzzing gave way to a lightheadedness and he slowly became aware that it wasn't just anyone he held pressed against the mattress. It was Edie and she was saying his name and pushing at his chest trying to move him off of her. And then she was being helped by someone else who was grasping at his shoulder and attempting to roll him over. He shrugged those hands away and half turned and tried to push the person away. But it was Pop. Pop was saying his name too. He was telling him to get up and that everything was all right, whatever that meant. Because everything wasn't all right. Even he could see that. And he felt the sudden prick of tears and weakly waved his father away, not wanting him to watch as he made a blubbering fool of himself. Doing it in front of Edie would be bad enough, but not Pop. At thirty-four years of age he wasn't about to cry in front of his dad. He felt Edie's hands on the back of his neck and then at his cheeks and she turned his face toward hers.

"Pete?" Her hands were gentle as they held his face but her fingers trembled slightly and beneath the concern in her eyes was a hint of uncertainty. He'd scared her. He knew it and she knew it and he felt a wave of shame because that was the last thing in the world he wanted. "I'm sorry, I should have just put the gun away until later. I wasn't thinking."

Pete stared down at her. He'd scared her and could easily have hurt her and she was the one apologizing. Still lying half on top of her he slipped his hands beneath her shoulders and buried his face in the curve of her neck. The tears came silently, soaking into the soft cotton material of her pretty pink blouse, a couple of ragged breaths the only outward sign of his discomfort.

Pop silently bent down and picked up his son's revolver and placed it out of sight in the closet for the time being. He then knelt down and began gathering up the broken bits of lamp, as well as Pete's wallet which had somehow ended up on the floor. As he placed the wallet in the nightstand drawer his gaze found the man and woman on the bed. Pete appeared to be slowly relaxing, Edie's fingers running soothingly along his shoulders and his neck and the back of his head, her eyes closed as she just lay there and held him. The elder Gunn disposed of the largest shards of lamp, dropping them into the bathroom wastebasket, then settled himself in the bedroom chair, loath to leave the two of them alone.


	24. Chapter 24

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.**

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 24**

Frank Gunn turned his head at the sound of footsteps on the kitchen floor, then smiled at the sight his son presented him. Pete's white t-shirt was rumpled and hanging half in and half out of the waistband of the brown-striped pajama pants he was wearing and his feet were bare. His usually neat black hair stuck up in spikes on one side of his head and was matted down on the other and he looked like he could barely hold his eyes open. The last part didn't surprise Frank. When she eventually came downstairs Edie told him she'd given Pete a couple of the pills the doctor had prescribed, which he initially refused but ended up swallowing anyway because the pain in his ribs and the throbbing in his head showed no sign of subsiding. She managed to get him under the covers and sat with him until well after he fell asleep.

"How are you feeling?" Frank placed a covered casserole dish and several foil-wrapped potatoes in the preheated oven and closed the door and then reached for the percolator and began preparing a fresh pot of coffee. "Edie said you were out like a light once she got those painkillers into you."

"I'm fine." Pete's fairly coherent answer belied his half asleep look. "Where is she?"

Frank hid a smile as he scooped coffee into the filter and set the lid back on the pot and plugged it in. His son really had it bad. He'd known that, if he was honest with himself, since the very first time Pete had mentioned the girl's name during one of their regular phone conversations and it had become more and more obvious every time they talked. He was happy for his boy, that he'd found a woman to love. She was a good kid. They were both good kids.

"Since you were sleeping she decided to run some errands today instead of tomorrow." Frank picked up a dish towel and wiped his hands as he leaned back against the counter. "She said she was picking some things up at the dry cleaner's and then stopping by the barber shop to talk to someone about coming over to give you a haircut." Frank's eyes narrowed as he tried to remember everything Edie had told him. "After that she was going by her apartment to take care of the cat and change clothes and pick up a dress for tonight and then she was making a quick stop to get her hair done. Sure sounds like an oxymoron to me, there's nothing quick about it when it comes to a woman going to the beauty shop," he added as an aside. "And then she was stopping at the A&P for a few things. I think that's it. She said she'd be back by five," he tilted his wrist and gave his watch a glance, "so she should be getting back any time now."

Pete's brain slowly sifted through everything Pop said and latched onto one thing.

"A dress for tonight?" He rubbed at his eyes and the back of his neck in an attempt to clear the fuzz from his mind.

"Mmmm. Mother and Barney stopped by just before Edie went out. That's where the casserole came from. They brought enough food to feed an army for a week." Frank grabbed a cup from a cabinet and filled it with coffee and handed it to his son. Pete's eyes scrunched up as he tried to make sense of where his dad was going with this. "The girl who's been filling in for Edie apparently got itchy feet and decided she needed to move on to something else. She telephoned Mother this morning and said she wouldn't be back. Mother asked Edie if she could work tonight and then she'd get by with just the guys for a few nights until Edie goes back full time on Monday."

"Who was filling in?" Pete took a big gulp of hot coffee and swallowed and winced as it went down. Maybe that would wake him up.

"Somebody named Peggy."

Pete rolled his eyes. Peggy Dolan. She was nice and was one of Mother's favorite fill-ins but she could get on your nerves after a while. And she wasn't Edie. And Emmett and the guys were used to Edie and only wanted Edie. No one else. Things must have gotten bad in a hurry if Peggy only lasted a week. He said as much to Pop. Frank just looked at him then cleared his throat and held up two fingers. Two weeks he told Pete. Miss Dolan had been subbing for Edie for the last two weeks.

Pete just stared. His coffee cup landed on the kitchen table with a loud clunk, the dark liquid inside swaying and dribbling over the edges of the white stoneware. He ran his hands over his face, exasperated with himself. It suddenly hit him for the very first time that he wasn't the only one who was missing two weeks of his life. So was Edie.

* * *

Shutting the apartment door behind her, Edie Hart juggled several items from one hand to the other, dropping her purse onto a nearby chair and setting a brown paper grocery sack on the floor next to it. She carefully draped the dress she'd picked out for tonight over the back of the chair before quickly carrying Pete's favorite gray suit upstairs and hanging it on the rack in the closet. Then she released a tired breath that tickled the curls the hairdresser had left to caress her forehead after styling her hair. A check of her reflection in the dresser mirror told her she'd need to take another shower before heading for _Mother's_ but right now all she wanted to do was have a bite to eat and then sit down for a few minutes of peace and quiet before heading out again.

Edie retrieved the grocery bag and placed it on the counter as she entered the kitchen, a smile on her face for Frank Gunn as he stood checking the oven. She turned her eyes to Pete, her smile widening before she quickly bit down on her lips to keep from laughing. But she couldn't help herself and the smile came back along with a throaty chuckle.

"Have you even _looked_ in a mirror?"

She reached up to comb her fingers through his hair where it was sticking up and ruffled it where it was matted down, giving him an amused wrinkle of her nose. Pete felt of his hair and gave a disgusted sigh and grabbed Edie's hand in his, listening to Pop laugh all the while.

"You could have said something," Pete grumbled at the older man's back, shifting from one foot to the other as Edie used her free hand to pull at his t-shirt in a vain attempt to straighten it around his waist.

"And spoil all my fun?" Frank's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled and began gathering items to make a salad. "Why don't you two find something to do while I finish here? One of you is still an invalid and shouldn't be overdoing things and the other has been on the run all day and needs to head off to work in a little while. Go take a load off your feet. I'll let out a holler when supper's ready. It'll be a little while yet."

"Come on." Edie tugged at Pete's hand. "You have time to take a shower and then I need to jump under the water for a few minutes."

In silence he accompanied her to the stairs, stopping and turning her around to face him as she stood on the first step. She looked into his eyes, now at a level with hers, allowed her gaze to roam his face, noticed the tiny tic of the muscle in his jaw as he stared back at her.

"What's wrong?" A tiny frown furrowed her brow then cleared as Pete shook his head.

"Nothing." Edie read the word on his lips, his voice barely audible, but it was stronger as he continued. "I love you."

Her hands went to his shoulders, to the back of his neck, to the side of his face before she leaned slightly forward and touched his lips with hers, barely clinging in a soft kiss. Pete felt her lips curve in a smile as her hands smoothed their way down his chest and around his waist, careful of his bumps and bruises and tender ribs. His hands came to rest on her hips.

"I love you, too."

"I'm sorry about what happened this morning."

Edie searched his eyes then smiled and brought her face closer to his again. Her arms left his waist and crawled back up his chest. Her fingers skimmed along the edge of his t-shirt collar, tickling the warm skin of his throat.

"What part of what happened?"

"The scary part," Pete said, a half smile curving his lips for just a second or two before disappearing. "You could have been hurt. I'd never forgive myself if that happened."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Pop said you haven't been to work for two weeks. The entire time I was..." He stared over her shoulder and tried to find the right words to describe something he still didn't understand and ended up just shrugging. "Gone. The entire time I was gone. And then when I was in the hospital. He said you just sat and waited." His eyes found hers again. "You shouldn't have had to do that."

"What should I have done?"

"I don't know." He swallowed thickly and shrugged again and attempted the other half of that smile he tried before. "Gone on with your life I guess. There was nothing-"

"I don't have a life without you." Edie pulled back and grasped Pete's hand. "If all I can ever do for you in this life is sit and wait then that's what I'll do. Sit and wait." She gave him a teasing smile. "It's not like I don't already have a lot of experience at it."

* * *

Edie pulled open the silverware drawer and began gathering forks, knives and spoons to go with the dinner plates and drinking glasses already on the counter. Cups and saucers and blue cloth napkins joined the collection. Frank gave her a smile and said another ten minutes and everything would be ready so she grabbed what she could and headed into the dining room to set the table, Pop following behind with the cups and saucers before walking back into the kitchen. This was the first real sit-down supper the three of them would be sharing and she wanted to get everything right. As she set the last utensil next to a plate the doorbell rang. Hearing Pete call out that he'd get it she walked back to the kitchen, giving him a smile as he carefully took the final two steps down the stairs. He was doing well considering the long day he'd had.

Opening the apartment door Pete was unprepared to find Janet Jacoby on the other side, her husband standing behind her sporting an uncertain smile. Pete was glad he'd actually dressed, finding an old pair of soft gray corduroys folded on a shelf in the back of the closet to wear with an equally old blue and white plaid flannel Pendleton shirt. Janet's eyes widened enough at the bruises and half healed lacerations on his face, there was no telling what her reaction would have been if he'd answered the door wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Jacoby himself wouldn't have batted an eyelash. His wife was a different story altogether. Pete stepped aside to let them in, his eyes going to the cake holder the policeman carried in one hand and the bag he carried in the other.

"A strange thing happened," Jacoby said, setting his items down on the coffee table as Pete led the way into the living room and motioned for his visitors to have a seat on the sofa. "I called the hospital to check on a certain patient this morning and much to my surprise was told he'd been released." He removed his hat and settled himself next to Janet. "Nice of someone to let me know." Jacoby's voice was gentle but tinged with a hint of sarcasm. His wife gave him a look but he ignored it.

Pete gave a little shrug as he gingerly settled himself on the BarcaLounger he hadn't had the opportunity to try out yet.

"It was a busy morning." He glanced up as Pop sauntered into the room, an oven mitt in one hand. Jacoby half rose and gave a nod to the older man and introduced his wife then sat back down. "I ended up sleeping the afternoon away and Edie was running errands. I don't know what Pop was doing." He looked up at his dad again and narrowed his eyes. "Probably snoring in my chair."

"You better believe it," Frank admitted with an easy smile. His gaze swung back to the Lieutenant and his wife. "Supper's almost on the table. You two are welcome to join us."

Janet Jacoby quickly declined the invitation. Almost too quickly. They had somewhere else they needed to be she said. It was parents night at the school and they had to pick up their three at her folks house and go from there. They just wanted to bring by a cake and some paperbacks Pete might like to read to pass the time. The Lieutenant handed the bag of books to Pete and Frank reached for the cake holder, saying he'd put the dessert into another container so they could take theirs home. He disappeared into the kitchen before either Jacoby or his wife could say it wasn't necessary.

Setting the cake holder on the counter, Pop deftly separated the top from the bottom and removed the cake to another plate, shooting a quick glance at Edie when she asked who was at the door.

"Lieutenant Jacoby and his wife."

"His what?" Edie paused in the process of adding water to the percolator for another pot of coffee and gave him a startled look.

"His wife." Frank moistened a dish towel and cleaned the cake holder and snapped the two pieces back together. "You know, the woman he's married to?" he teased.

The blonde shrugged her shoulders, obviously taken aback by what she'd just heard. The smile on Frank's face slowly faded.

"You don't know Mrs. Jacoby?" His eyebrows rose as Edie shook her head and returned her attention to her task.

"The Lieutenant mentions her from time to time but I've never met her."

Frank noticed she didn't appear troubled by the fact that she'd never met the Lieutenant's wife but it struck him as odd.

"You and Pete have been together for how long?" he asked rhetorically. "And in all that time you've never met his friend's wife. Why not?" Maybe it was none of his business but that didn't mean he couldn't be curious and ask. He watched as Edie shrugged again.

"I don't know. I guess I've never really given it much thought."

Edie plugged the black cord of the percolator into the electrical outlet next to the stove and listened as the water began to heat. A little frown appeared between her eyes and she stared at the pot as the water began bubbling up into the glass knob on top of the lid.

"Pete says-" She paused and thought for a moment and started over. "I'd been going out with Pete for three months before I ever met Lieutenant Jacoby. When I asked Pete why he hadn't introduced us he told me that he liked it being just the two of us and that our relationship wasn't anyone else's business." A smile lit her face at the memory of that day. "The Lieutenant was very surprised to find out Pete had a girlfriend who he knew nothing about and he wasn't very friendly towards me for a while. I teased Pete about it and told him his friend didn't think I was good enough for him." Edie's eyes followed Frank as he checked the time and turned off the oven.

"Anyway..." Edie pulled open the refrigerator door and reached for condiments and the tea pitcher and a quart milk bottle and after a moments thought plucked a container of grape juice from the shelf inside the door. "Pete has only mentioned Jacoby's wife in passing. I get the feeling from the few comments he's made that she likes the Lieutenant to keep his professional life and personal life separate. I know he and Pete used to get together every once in a while to do something but as far as I know they haven't since Pete and I have been together." She gave Frank an awkward smile as she pried the cap off the _Borden's_ bottle. "Maybe that has something to do with why I've never met his wife. Sometimes I feel as though I've come between him and Pete in some way. Like I'm the other woman in my own relationship," she joked with a playful frown.

"Believe me, honey, you didn't come between them," Frank assured her with an amused smile. "You just became more important. If Pete behaved in any other manner I'd have to seriously begin to question my son's manhood." He gave her a considering look and a wink as he picked up the cake holder. "I'll let them know you'll be right out."

Frank still had a smile on his face when he entered the living room, depositing the empty container atop the bar as he passed it, figuring that way it wouldn't be forgotten by their visitors when they left. He seated himself on the edge of a chair across from Jacoby and his wife.

"Edie will be out in a minute. She's doing something in the kitchen."

Pete's gaze snapped to his in alarm.

"Don't worry," Frank assured him. "I think she's just obsessing over what we're drinking at supper."

"I'm not obsessing." Edie's voice followed Frank's teasing words to Pete as she trailed unbeknownst behind him. "I know exactly what I'm doing." She directed a smile toward Janet Jacoby and introduced herself to the pretty, dark-haired woman, shaking her hand and thanking her for the cake while pointedly ignoring the man sitting beside her. She gave Pete's leg a pat as she walked around him to settle herself on the arm of his chair. "And don't think I didn't see that look, Mister Gunn."

Several minutes passed as the five of them chatted, the two women doing most of the talking. Frank looked through the paperbacks Jacoby brought and discovered two Max Brand westerns that he set aside for himself along with several _Action_ - _Packed_ _Western_ magazines. Pete's vision remained blurred to the extent that he wasn't doing any reading yet so Frank figured he might get the books read himself before his son got to them. He set a handful of mysteries and a couple science fiction paperbacks on the end table and neatly folded the cloth bag to send back home with the Jacobys. Then he glanced at Pete, wondering at his silence. Pete was staring at Jacoby, a thoughtful look in his eyes that said he was trying to figure something out. Frank likened it to having a word on the tip of your tongue, aware of its presence, knowing what it meant, but not being able to say it. There was some idea floating around in Pete's head that he hadn't quite pinned down, but when he eventually did, when the realization hit him, it would be a thing of beauty. It always was. What happened after the realization came to him might not be too pretty though.

Lieutenant Jacoby glanced at the watch on his right wrist and grabbed his hat and gave his wife a look and stood up, saying they really needed to be on their way if they were going to pick up the kids and make it to parents night on time. He ushered Janet ahead of him to the door, gathering their belongings along the way and giving an all-encompassing wave of his hand toward Edie and Frank before turning to Pete, who had gotten to his feet and followed them slowly to the door. He held his hand out, grasping Pete's as he did the same.

"I'm really glad you're home, Pete." His voice was soft and his gaze sincere as his eyes met those of his friend. "I'm glad you're going to be okay. And I want you to know that I'm very sorry about what happened at the hospital yesterday. I should have just-" His thoughts went back to what Edie had said to him the previous day. "I should have just stopped being the cop for once and treated you as what you are. My friend." Jacoby let his gaze travel past Pete's shoulder to rest on Edie's back as she walked in front of Frank Gunn into the kitchen. "And I apologize for the things I said to Edie. I didn't mean any of it. I was upset and feeling guilty and I opened my mouth and I stuck my foot in and I'm sorry. I want you to know that and I want her to know that."

The expression on Pete's face didn't tell the policeman anything. If he'd been told by his girlfriend or by his father about what had happened the previous day the PI wasn't letting on. The Lieutenant released his grip on his friend's hand and moved to join his wife. He felt Pete's gaze following them as they walked down the hallway and then heard the hushed sound of the apartment door closing.

* * *

Supper was Peter Gunn's favorite meal of the day. It was invariably the one meal he and Edie had always made an attempt to get together for, whether it was scrambled eggs at her place before he took her to work, sometime during the late evening when he had an opportunity to pick her up at _Mother's_ for a quick run to _Rosie's_ _Diner_ or the Chinese place up the street, or at a real restaurant on those occasions they were both free when she got off work. And of course there were also those times he managed to sweet-talk Mother into letting Edie leave early so he could prepare a special meal at his place. Breakfast was often iffy, not because they weren't together, but because that was their sleeping time. And lunch didn't always fall into a regular slot because of errands and rehearsals and appointments and social engagements and civic duties.

Ice cubes crackled and hissed and settled as Edie poured tea into the tall light blue glass she'd set beside Pop's plate. Though it had been in the refrigerator the tea was still a tad warm and quickly began melting the cubes as liquid and its frozen counterpart met. Pop said thanks and lifted the glass and took a long swallow and then gave a sigh of absolute contentment as he lowered the half empty glass to the table. It was nice to be away from the hospital, sitting at his son's dinner table, enjoying good food and the company of his family. And he told them that.

Pete gave his dad a tired smile and admitted he couldn't have said it better himself. Then Edie was beside him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder as she filled his glass too. But not from the tea pitcher. Instead she was pouring from a _Borden's_ milk bottle. From the way the milk adhered to the inside of the glass quart he knew it was buttermilk. The drinking glass full almost to the brim, Edie set the bottle down and gave his shoulder a little squeeze, her voice a soft whisper in his ear as she turned away to find her own seat.

"I hope that holds you for a little while." Pete watched nonplussed as she settled herself across from him and took a sip of her grape juice. Was she teasing him? She ducked her head as she spread her napkin out on her lap but he could see the cat that got the cream smile that curved her lips. She _was_ teasing him. She was delving into their own private little world, right in front of his dad no less, flirting with him about something one didn't discuss in polite company.

Buttermilk was... well, suffice to so say buttermilk was something just between the two of them, something they alone understood, a silly expression that had been concocted somewhere along the line to refer to their, um, private goings-on. When two people found themselves in the company of friends or family or even strangers and suddenly had the urge to go home and be alone, together by themselves, they sometimes needed a way to get that point across to each other without informing the entire room what they were up to. Saying he needed a glass of buttermilk to settle his stomach had absolutely nothing to do with what it implied.

"Now that's something I haven't had in a while," Pete muttered, taking a small sip. He stared at Edie over the top of the glass. If she thought she was going to get away with something she had another think coming.

"Not one of the choices they offered you in the hospital I take it," Frank commented, following along with an observation that Mother had prepared one of the best casseroles he could ever remember eating.

"Wasn't on their menu."

Pete almost smiled at the choking sound that came from Edie's direction. She coughed and muttered something about swallowing wrong when the elder Gunn asked if she was okay.

"I don't know how you can stand that stuff," Pop said, risking a glance at his son while digging a second huge spoonful of casserole from the baking dish.

"Hmmm?" Pete turned his attention bemusedly to Pop.

"Whenever your Grandma Jean made butter she refused to throw out the buttermilk it left behind. We were forced to drink it because she didn't want anything to go to waste." Frank chuckled as he continued filling his plate. "Your Aunt Patty tried to get the old dog Shep to drink hers once, I guess she was about seven or eight, and Ma had a fit you wouldn't believe."

"I guess you could say it's an acquired taste," Pete said.

"Oh? And just how did you acquire it?"

"It's all Edie's fault. She insists it's good for me." He threw the woman in question a quick glance but she kept her eyes demurely lowered. "So she gives it to me. Sometimes whether I ask for it or not." He somehow managed to keep a straight face when her gaze snapped to his and her eyes narrowed. She took another sip of juice and wrinkled her nose at him.

"Well I'm sure she's just looking out for your best interests, son." Pop said.

"Something like that," Edie admitted. She smiled at him and then rolled her eyes at the man across the table, silently conveying her opinion that he was a nut. Pete in turn gave a quirk of his eyebrows that clearly indicated she had started the whole thing and she'd just have to accept the consequences. He chewed a bite of baked potato and swallowed, following it up with a big gulp from his glass, sighing in satisfaction as the cool liquid went down. He gave Edie a deadpan look, the milk clinging to his upper lip, and his right eye closed in a quick wink.

"You can be such a child sometimes." She shook her head at him but her lips trembled with laughter.

"Need another napkin?" Pop asked.

Pete shook his head and grabbed his from his lap to wipe his mouth.

"It may be an acquired taste but you seem to like it." Pop again, slathering butter on his potato after peeling the foil away and slicing the spud down the middle.

"It's really not bad once you get used to it." Pete looked across the table at Edie. "It can be a _little_ _tart_ sometimes though." That got Edie's attention.

"You watch your language there, buster." She eyed him narrowly as she lowered her fork and pushed her plate aside, resting her elbows on the table and her chin upon her clasped hands. Her gaze raked him up and down in mock disapproval.

Pete grabbed the _Borden's_ bottle and refilled his empty glass.

"Don't you want some, honey?" His laughing eyes met hers.

"I think I'll save mine to go with dessert," Edie said after pretending to consider.

"There might not be any left, " Pete warned. "It's so good I just might drink the whole bottle."

Pop finished his supper, plate wiped clean, and leaned back in his chair. His eyes went back and forth, from his son to the blonde and back again, as he listened to their strange conversation. They had quite obviously forgotten he was even sitting at the table with them. He decided it was nice to see Pete so animated, so patently happy to be home and in the company of the woman sitting opposite him. His face still looked like it had been used as a punching bag, his mental reaction times hadn't caught up to where they should be and his tiredness was evident, but he had a boyish grin on his face as he parried good-naturedly with his girl.

"There's more where that came from," Edie assured him with a teasing smile.

Pop stood and began gathering the plates.

"That's good." Pete finished off his drink, his eyes never leaving her face. "Because sometimes I just can't seem to get my fill of it." He set his glass gently on the table, his eyes crinkling with a smile at the light blush that suffused her cheeks. She pursed her lips and dropped her gaze.

Pete pulled his eyes away from Edie to find Pop staring at them, one eyebrow raised, his face a picture of good humored exasperation as he leaned against the door frame. Edie's face reddened further and she stood up, clearing her throat as she stepped quickly around the table, informing no one in particular that she was going to run upstairs to powder her nose and would be right back down for cake and coffee. That way she would be ready to go whenever Emmett happened to come by to pick her up for work.

"I miss those times." It was Frank Gunn's voice that finally broke the silence between father and son.

Pete looked at him, a question in his eyes.

"Those times when you're in a world of your own, when you think no one else knows what you're doing or what you're talking about." His eyes held a brief sadness. "When its just the two of you even in a room full of people." He gave Pete a sharp look. "You hold onto that girl, son. You hold onto her tight and don't ever let go. Life isn't perfect and you'll have your fair share of problems... but she's a keeper. You got that?"

Pete cleared his throat, swallowing the lump that had formed there, and nodded.

"Finding a woman like that..." Frank crossed his arms almost protectively over his chest, as though he was guarding his heart. "That's a once in a lifetime thing. You don't mess with it, you don't screw it up. A man doesn't always get a second chance, either with the same person or with someone new. You take good care of what you have, don't go looking for something you think might be better."

"There's nothing better, Pop."

"That's the way I felt about your Mom." Frank's eyes held a faraway look. "There was never anyone before or after that could hold a candle to her. Even after all these years I still miss her. Sometimes I find myself saying something out loud and forget and turn to look for her just knowing she's going to tell me what for and she's not there. And a little of the sunshine goes out of my day."

He silently gathered the remaining dishes and found his way back into the kitchen, Pete following along behind with the silverware. They shared a companionable silence as Pop cut into the cake the Jacobys had brought by and Pete gathered cream and sugar for their coffee. As the atmosphere lightened he glanced at his father.

"So what about that Mrs. McAllister woman you've been carrying on with?" he teased. "Are you two still seeing each other?"

"We are." Pop set the dessert plates aside and covered the cake. "She's a fine woman and we have a lot in common. We share some of the same experiences." He stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the counter, his eyes on the floor as he considered the woman he'd been seeing for the past couple of years. "Her husband was a fireman. He was killed in that Sculley Warehouse collapse about ten years ago. They never had children so she's been pretty much alone in the world since then." He lifted his eyes and gave Pete a lopsided smile. "We get along just fine."

"But she's not Mom."

"No, she's not your Mom. But that doesn't mean I care for her any less, I just care for her in a different way. She's a different person, a different woman, than your Mom was." An amused look crossed his face. "I suppose it's sort of like regular milk and that buttermilk of yours. The milk might quench your thirst, but the buttermilk..." Frank smiled and slowly shook his head reminiscently as he pushed away from the counter. "The buttermilk is something else entirely."


	25. Chapter 25

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.**

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 25**

Arms resting above his head and hands loosely clasped, Peter Gunn stared at the ceiling from the comfort of his new reclining chair. His prone position was conducive to sleep but a nap just wouldn't come. Edie had come home from work hours ago, not directly but after stopping by her own apartment to feed Thomas, the little ginger-haired cat, and to visit with the feline for a while. She had picked up her mail and grabbed a few sets of clean clothes and fresh undergarments and had taken care of a number of overdue chores before calling a cab to bring her back to Pete's place. He had been half awake when she came into the bedroom and dropped her things onto the chair, telling him that Pop was already up and in the kitchen getting things together to make pancakes. He'd smiled sleepily as he watched her take off her sweater and toe off her shoes before crawling carefully over him to her side of the double bed. It felt good to have her there. They lay in silence for a while until she suggested he probably needed to get up and throw some water on his face so he'd be awake enough to head downstairs for breakfast. So he did. When he returned from the bathroom she was sound asleep with her face buried in his pillow. Somehow he had managed to get her clothes off and the covers over her without waking her though he just about wore himself out doing so. Pop had looked up in puzzlement when he appeared for breakfast without Edie but had nodded sagely when Pete told him she was tired and had fallen asleep.

"She was tired when she left for work last evening," he'd been told. Pop hadn't meant to make him feel bad, he'd just been stating a fact, but Pete had felt the blow nevertheless.

So here he was, restless and unable to sleep because his mind was filled with disjointed thoughts about the woman asleep upstairs, the odd visit yesterday from his friend Jacoby and a breakfast aside from Pop indicating he would probably be heading back home on Tuesday. This being Thursday that meant he'd still be around for several more days but Pete knew those days would fly by. He didn't know what to think about that. He wanted Pop to stay as long as possible but he also knew his dad had a life of his own and people who were missing his presence back home. He was also aware that he and Edie needed time alone, just the two of them, and that wouldn't happen until they had the apartment and their lives to themselves.

Pete released a sigh and reached for the Jordan's Furniture Store catalog still lying on the end table and began flipping through its pages. Maybe it would help put him to sleep. It must have because the next thing he knew was the feeling of the chair giving lightly and a soft warm body carefully wiggling its way in beside him. He smiled and painstakingly shifted over a little and opened his eyes a crack as his cheek rested atop the blonde head tucked into his shoulder. The lighting in the room indicated the day must be getting later, though it was hard to tell due to the drizzly cloudiness visible through the open curtains of the patio doors. A check of the clock told him it was just after three in the afternoon.

"Hi." Edie tried to stifle a yawn. She was wearing his robe over a light blue nightgown.

"Hi." Pete carefully slipped his arm around her and pulled her closer, dropping a kiss on her temple in the process, a stray lock of soft hair tickling his nose. He watched as Edie reached out with slim fingers to rifle through a couple pages of the catalog on his lap.

"Looking for a new headboard?" Her sleepy voice was filled with the humor of a shared secret and she felt a sudden gladness well up in her heart at the rise and fall of his chest as he snickered. The PI picked up the catalog and allowed it to fall open to a dog-eared page.

"Something along that line," he admitted. He held the catalog up and tilted it in her direction to get her opinion of the Serta Perfect Sleeper mattress and box spring set he was considering. She gave it an admiring look and raised an eyebrow at the price. The double set pictured was $159 but Pete said he wanted a queen size, which would be somewhat higher. On the bright side the purchase would come with a free set of linens "available in a variety of colors and textures" according to the catalog. Edie commended him on his good taste and watched as he lowered the catalog and flipped to the furniture section. He'd marked several headboard sets and told her to pick a few she liked so they could take a look at them when they visited the store.

"You want me to go with you?" Her gaze moved from the catalog to his face.

"Sure." Pete managed to tilt the chair forward so they were reclining rather than lying and tried to move further over so she'd be more comfortable, a pensive expression on his face as he managed to wrap his arm more fully around her. He kissed her forehead and allowed his lips to linger there and spoke again after a minute or two. "It's always been _your_ bed or _my_ bed," he said in a low voice, his breath tickling the soft hair above her ear. "This will be _our_ bed. So we need to pick it out together." He dropped a kiss to her temple and moved his head so he could look into her face. "If that's what you want," he amended, not wanting to take anything for granted. "I _hope_ that's what you want."

Edie gave him that special smile that was his alone.

"You know it's what I want," she chided. "But if it's going to be ours I should pay half."

Pete's gaze narrowed on her face as he pretended to consider her offer.

"Actually you _should_ probably be the one buying the headboard," he finally said, a smile lurking in his eyes. "Since it's your fault it's in the shape it is."

" _My_ fault?" She tried to sound offended. "It wasn't my fault. I just happened to be there at the time."

"That's the problem," he chuckled. "You were there."

"I had to have something to hold onto," the woman lamented. "It was either that or fall off the bed. It wasn't my fault your headboard was so rickety. And it wasn't my fault you got so carried away with yourself." Her demure smile belied her words.

"Who's fault was it then? I was having fun." He gave her a sly wink. "You're always fun to play with."

"Fine then!" A flustered pink stained her cheeks and she pretended to be interested in the catalog. "You pay for the mattress and I'll pay for the headboard."

"No," he said, giving her an amused smile. "I'll take care of it. Besides," he stretched lazily, "you bought this chair for me."

"That doesn't come close to the cost of the bed."

"Doesn't matter."

"And how do you know I didn't use your credit card to buy the chair?"

"Wouldn't matter either. What's mine is yours. So it doesn't make any difference."

He let his eyes fall shut, feeling the heat of her gaze as he did. There were some things she needed to know. Things he needed to say. He knew that. And now was probably as good a time as any. The apartment was empty but for the two of them. He informed her that Pop was off doing something, running some sort of errands, had said before leaving just after noon that he would be back by six and would take care of getting supper ready. He heard the catalog drop to the floor and felt her move a little so that she fully faced him and then her arm was gently snaking across his chest, fingers plucking at the collar of his soft cotton t-shirt.

"Pete-"

"I'm sorry," he said, interrupting before she could go any further. "The very last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you."

Her eyes studied his face and she could have said something but she didn't. Instead she remained silent and let him say what he needed to say.

"I came after you," he said in a low voice, opening his eyes and casting his gaze toward hers. "That night. I made it halfway down the hall to your dressing room before deciding that maybe I needed to give you some time. I figured I'd just show up like usual the next day to take you to _Mother's_ and we'd talk and sort things out and everything would be all right." He pursed his lips, gnawing at the inside of both, his eyes once again finding the ceiling. "Then I went home and went to bed and laid there all night thinking about what you said. And I decided maybe you were right." He blew out an exasperated puff of air. "Not maybe. I knew you _were_ right."

Edie's hand moved from his chest and he felt its warm presence first against his neck and then on his cheek as she gently urged him to turn his face toward hers. Her fingers lingered and trailed to his lips, outlining them as she softly spoke.

"I missed you. You just were never there and-" She choked out a low self-conscious sound that might have been something between chuckle and sob, her hand circling the back of his neck. "I missed you so much and I didn't know what to do about your not being there and I wanted to talk about it but you were never there to talk to. It felt like we were going around in circles." She gave a self-deprecating smile as she devoured his face with her eyes. "I didn't know what to do without you. It was like half of me wasn't there. And the last couple of months have been even worse. Pete, I-"

Her jumbled speech was interrupted by the pressure of Pete's lips on hers, his fingers tangling in her hair as he held her and held onto her. The arm he'd wrapped around her brought her closer and she leaned into him fully, relishing the feel of his lips and his body against hers. She shifted so that she was lying against his chest then pulled away as he gave a grunt of pain but he refused to relinquish her lips. When he finally did end the kiss it was only to nuzzle against her cheek, his mouth trailing her jaw and teasing the soft hollow of her throat before he tilted his head to look into her face.

"Do you remember when we first started going out together?"

"Vaguely," Edie smiled teasingly.

"We barely knew each other." He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he returned her smile. "We'd only gone out a couple times. But I already knew how I felt about you." His smile faded a little. "From the very first moment I saw you I knew how I felt about you. And I was already afraid of losing you." His fingers continued their restless examination of her hair, absently marveling at its softness as he caressed the blonde locks. "Then when we..." Pete's voice trailed off and the woman smiled, eyes on his face. "When we finally..."

"Made love?" Edie's smile grew.

"It was a hundred times worse. I knew I'd do everything in my power to hold onto you." His fingers left her hair to trail a path along her cheek, softly touching her face as though attempting to memorize again details that had been etched in his mind since the day he'd met her. "Everything I've ever said to you about us, about the future, about wanting all those things you always talk about- I've meant every word. We'll have that. I want that. All of it. With you." He gave a shamed smile. "No matter how much I try to change the subject."

Pete's hand returned to cup the back of her head as Edie buried her face in his shoulder.

"I was the one who didn't hold on."

"No. That's not true." The PI made a face, his expression one of self-disgust. "I made all sorts of decisions in my own mind about things I wanted to do, things I thought I needed to do. For us. For the two of us together. Things I should have talked to you about, that we should have decided together." He bumped her forehead with his, urging her to look at him. "Things we _will_ talk about. I promise."

"I should have tried harder. I shouldn't have been so impatient."

Pete's mouth quirked in a half-smile and he shook his head.

"You did what you had to do. Exactly what you should have done. The more I thought about it the more I knew you were right, that we couldn't go on like we were. It was my fault things got to that point and I realized there were some things I really needed to work on when it came to you and me. I figured..." The PI shrugged, his lips meeting her forehead and once again lingering. "The thought of being without you almost killed me and I worried about you and I missed you. I need you to know that." His breath was warm against her face as he talked. "There's no way I can explain to you how much I missed you. I don't ever want to go through that again," Pete emphasized.

"Never," Edie shook her head. She lifted her hand to his face, allowing her fingers to tenderly outline the fading bruises, to drift across his forehead, along the bridge of his nose, across his cheek to the dimple found there. Her expression told him there was something else she wanted to say but he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"We can talk about it again tomorrow. Or next week." Pete gently palmed her cheeks, wiping at the moisture rimming her eyes as he gazed into them. "Or never. I don't really care. Just promise me that next time I act stupid you'll kick me in the shin or give me a poke in the eye with a sharp stick." His expression was wry. "That should knock some sense into me and keep me in line."

The smile that lit the woman's face refused to leave as she ran her fingers through his short hair and leaned in to kiss him. Pete felt her soft laughter against his lips and felt the tug of his own smile. Edie pulled away reluctantly, her gaze wandering over his features, drinking them in. They lay there in companionable silence for a long while, until Edie knew she had to break it. She needed to talk to him about something.

"Pete?"

"Hmm?" His eyes were closed, lashes dark against his cheeks. He looked tired. Maybe she should wait. When she didn't continue those lashes fluttered and she was caught in his deep blue gaze. His eyes held a question but a sudden uncertainty grasped her heart.

"Your haircut looks nice, " she finally said, lifting a hand and running her fingers gently through his dark crop of hair, touching briefly upon the back of his head, feeling of the lump that was barely noticeable anymore. "Johnnie did a good job."

"My neck itches where he used the razor." Pete swept his palm along the back of his neck to emphasize his words. "I think I need to go upstairs and take a shower to wash away all the little hairs he left behind. It wasn't quite the same as sitting in his barber chair."

Edie smiled and allowed her fingers to smooth the soft material of his t-shirt where it clung to his shoulders. She could never get enough of the warm strength he exuded, of the firm muscles that seemed made for her own body to fit alongside perfectly, just as her head fit perfectly into the curve of his shoulder. Every part of their bodies aligned seamlessly, as though created especially for each other.

"I can wash your back for you."

"Sure you can," Pete answered agreeably, his hand wrapping around hers and stilling it against his chest. "As soon as you tell me what it is that's on your mind."

Edie moved her fingers restlessly within his and her lips parted several times as she tried to speak. She couldn't quite find the right words, didn't know if such words existed. She was very aware though that with Pete it was often best to be openly blunt about things. His patience didn't last long when it came to hemming and hawing.

"Pete, when we were- When we weren't-" Her tongue darted out to wet suddenly dry lips. "I went on a date. I went out with someone." She waited but he didn't say anything, didn't move, didn't react to her bald statement. She lifted her gaze to his face. "Did you hear me, Pete?"

"I heard you."

"I went to dinner and a movie-"

"-with silly Sheila Bell and her husband Danny," he finished mildly. Pete's gaze wasn't directed anywhere in particular, his eyes half closed as he relaxed with her next to him. "Danny's brother from Harrisburg was in town and Sheila didn't want him to feel like a third wheel when they took him out so she asked you to go along. You had dinner at the _Pink_ _Dragon_ and you snuck out of an eight o'clock showing of _North_ _By_ _Northwest_ at the first intermission and went home in a cab by yourself." He slanted her an amused look as she raised her head to stare at him. "Without telling anybody. That wasn't a very polite thing to do. I know Mama taught you better manners than that."

"How do you know all that?"

"I have my ways," he reminded her. "Devious and underhanded though they be."

"Sheila's barely spoken to me since," Edie murmured, her chin resting on his shoulder. "I think she's really mad at me."

"She's not mad at you. I told her to mind her own business." Pete's lips straightened into a rueful smile. "But a little more politely than that. I also told her if she couldn't keep her mouth shut about me talking to her then she needed to make excuses to not see you. Also more politely than that."

"When did you tell her that?" Edie frowned, her tone flabbergasted.

"That evening after you left the theater," he said. "I went inside and sat down next to her. I think I scared the bejeebies out of her brother-in-law." His gaze slid lazily over her perplexed expression. "It wasn't a date. Believe me, if it had been anything even close to a date I would have done more than scare him. And I would have had you out of there long before you decided to leave on your own." A breath of a sigh escaped his lips and he touched his lips to her forehead. "I know you think you have to apologize for it but you don't."

Edie was quiet for a long time, so long that Pete finally turned his head to look at her. He caught the melancholy expression in her eyes, the glistening sheen of tears that refused to be tamed, the trembling of her lips unable to be stilled.

"Honey, it's okay." He released her hand and cupped the back of her head, bringing their lips together for a gentle kiss.

"I had to know." As the words escaped her lips the tears did the same, running silently down her cheeks to dampen the material of his shirt. "I'm sorry."

"Had to know what?" Pete was confused.

"What it would be like doing those things without you," the woman murmured.

"Edie..." He twisted sideways, his arms going fully around her, pulling her to his chest, fingers tangling in her hair, his lips finding hers in a crushing kiss. Finally ending the caress he pushed slightly away to look into her eyes. "Honey, you didn't do anything wrong. I love you."

"I don't ever want to do those things with anyone else."

"You won't," he assured her.

"Pete?"

"Hmmm?"

"Don't ever leave me."

* * *

Pete sighed when the doorbell rang. He released Edie's hand and urged her toward the stairs, telling her he'd be right up just as soon as he got rid of whoever was leaning on the bell. His eyes remained on her until she got to the top of the stairs and disappeared into the bedroom, then he stepped to the apartment door and pulled it open. Across the threshold stood a well-dressed man in his late fifties.

"Mr. Gunn." The man smiled ingratiatingly. "You might not remember me. I'm-"

"I know who and what you are," the PI ground out. "What do you want, Mr. Leopold?"

The smile fell from Egan Leopold's lips.

"I'd like to speak to you. May I come in?"

"No." Pete looked him up and down, curious despite himself. "I'll say again, what do you want?"

"The police are holding my client, Mr. Gunn. But I'm sure you're aware of that."

"Your client, Mr. Leopold?

"Don't play dumb, Mr. Gunn. You know who I'm talking about. Joe DeVito." Leopold, a slim man with deeply tanned skin and salt and pepper hair, clasped his hands in front of him. "Your cop friend Jacoby is holding my client, Mr. DeVito, and the District Attorney is pressing charges in reference to your recent experience." The oily smile returned. "I'd like you to make sure those charges are dropped. My client had nothing to do with Paul Denner and had no knowledge of his recent activities. I'm certain even you will admit that an innocent man shouldn't be jailed on the circumstantial case the police have filed against Mr. DeVito. Or on the libelous statements of his cousin Bennie Marconi."

The detective stared at the attorney for several long seconds, his face expressionless, his eyes thoughtful. Then he reached for the doorknob.

"Goodbye, Mr. Leopold." The door swung shut and was locked quietly and firmly.

The PI continued to stand in the same position, looking at the door but not seeing it.

"Pete?"

He glanced to the top of the stairs to meet Edie's concerned gaze. She'd shed his robe and stood in her nightgown, a bath towel in one hand, the other hand resting on the stair rail. He gave her a smile.

"I'll be up in just a minute. Why don't you warm the water up?"

She answered with an uncertain nod before disappearing back into the bedroom. Pete walked into the living room, lifted the telephone receiver and quickly dialed a number. Sergeant Lee Davis picked up on the first ring. After the usual pleasantries Pete asked for Lieutenant Jacoby but was told he was out on a case.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Pete?"

"Tell Jacoby that Egan Leopold dropped by to see me."

The silence from the other end of the line was telling.

"Tell Jacoby I want to see a copy of my case file." Pete felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead to go along with a sudden vise-like headache. "Tell him he can send it over or I can drop by and pick it up. He can let me know which is best for him." He thanked Davis and hung up and then slowly made his way up the stairs, desperately hoping a hot shower and soothing hands would chase away his dark thoughts.


	26. Chapter 26

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.**

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 26**

The lock clicked as Frank Gunn turned the key, the door swinging open on silent hinges. He toed it shut and headed straight for the kitchen, shoving his son's keys back into his pocket as he set a bag on the counter, quickly removing several items wrapped in white butcher's paper and placing them in the refrigerator. A couple days worth of meals still remained from the food Mother and Barney had supplied them with but Frank decided he wanted something special for this evening. He smiled as he thought about it, folding the paper bag and putting it away before heading back into the living room. He briefly wondered where Pete and Edie had gotten to then heard laughter echoing from upstairs, the light throaty sound of amusement he associated with the woman, something he was hearing much more frequently since they brought Pete home. The younger man's low tone followed, not exactly a laugh. A rumbling voice of disapproval? More light laughter followed as Frank's foot hit the first step and he slowly mounted the stairs. At the top he paused and rapped with his knuckles on the open bedroom door and poked his head into the room before entering.

Pete sat on the bed, his back against the wooden headboard, his long legs stretched out in front of him. One of the shoe boxes Frank had brought with him sat open beside him and several small piles of photographs were lying on the blanket. Edie sat across from him, between his feet, legs crossed Indian fashion as she sifted through pictures the man handed to her after first looking at them himself. Her lips still trembled with the laughter Frank had heard and Pete's forehead was creased with an exasperated frown.

"Edie..." The PI rolled his eyes, dropped the handful of photos he was flipping through and quickly leaned forward to make a grab for a small stack of glossies the woman had tucked under one knee. She was too fast for him, snatching them away and holding them out of his reach, her lips curving in amusement as the laughter returned in full force. She screeched as Pete scrambled to his knees and made a wild lunge for her hand but once again she was too quick, stretching her arm out toward Frank and entreating him to take and hold her prize while clutching at the detective's shirt with her other hand. Pete fell back against the headboard with a scowl for his dad as the older man gave his attention to the photographs and with a furtive peek at Edie as the bed frame behind him gave a tortured groan.

"Don't tell me you're still embarrassed by this old thing." Frank grabbed the wooden chair from beside the dresser, sliding it over next to the bed and around to face himself and settling onto it, his arms resting across the back of it as he stared at the picture. "I happen to think you look pretty darn cute there dressed in nothing but your birthday suit." He gave Pete an amused glance and then had to laugh out loud at the look of pure frustration that darkened his son's face.

"You would," the man groused, picking up the pictures he'd dropped and tossing them haphazardly in Edie's direction, a couple of them fluttering to the floor for Frank to lean over and pick up and hand to the girl. He gave her a look but her attention had returned to the faces staring back at her from the photographs she was handling with much more care than Pete had. Something was going on here but he had no clue as to what or why.

"Yes, well..." Frank's gaze slid over the picture of his son, no more than two years old, standing beside the bathtub in the first house he and Elizabeth had been able to afford, one little hand fisted in the shower curtain and a mutinous look on his face as he rebelled against being lifted into the tub. Life in a small apartment hadn't been what Frank Gunn wanted for his family and the house, no matter the shape it had been in when they had first moved in, had quickly become home and had been that for the first eight years of Pete's life. "You never did want to get into that tub," he mused.

Edie glanced at Pete. He was rubbing the back of his neck as he squinted at some writing on the back of a photograph, seemingly paying her and Pop no attention. She smiled to herself, deciding the expression on his face at that precise moment exactly matched that of his two year old self in the picture in Frank Gunn's hand.

"It's okay if he doesn't want you to keep it," Frank grinned, holding the photograph out almost at arms length to take a last look at it before handing it and the others back to Edie. "That picture took on a life of its own after I had it developed. Pete's mom thought it was the funniest thing in the world and ended up giving at least one copy to everyone in the family I think. I still have one or two and I'm pretty sure my sister Patty has a couple. That woman never gets rid of anything." He leaned in conspiratorially, gave Edie a wink and spoke in a stage whisper. "So I can get you another one. You can have it enlarged and hang it on the wall inside the front door."

Pete released a huge sigh and have his father a disgusted look.

"Don't give her any ideas."

"Has anybody ever told you you're a party pooper?" Frank shook his head forlornly, a secret smile in his eyes. "You'll change your tune one of these days when its your own kid. It won't seem so silly or embarrassing then." The smile traveled from his eyes to his lips as he saw Pete's eyes shift quickly to the blonde woman then back to the box he was refilling. Edie didn't look up from her intense perusal of the photo Frank had returned to her, but the tender curve of her lips was visible through the soft curtain of her hair as she bent over her prize.

The three sat in silence for a few minutes as Edie looked through the last few items Pete handed her. Frank watched her for a moment, glanced at his son to find the younger man staring at his girlfriend, an appreciative gleam in his eyes, then remembered something as his own gaze fell to the shoe box of photographs Pete now had on his lap. The older man unfolded himself from his chair, pulling it back into place against the wall and maneuvering past the bed and dresser to the closet, emerging a few moments later to somewhat hesitantly hand a small square of paper to Pete.

"It got separated from the rest of your things." Seeing the careful manner in which his son handled the photograph he was handed, Frank Gunn decided he really didn't need to say anything further about where it had been and how it came to be in his possession. He noticed Edie eyeing their exchange curiously but she didn't say anything.

"I wondered where it was when I went through my wallet." Pete's voice was soft. "I was actually kind of surprised I still _had_ a wallet," he half joked. He could feel the imminent return of the headache he thought he'd shaken with a couple of aspirin after his shower.

 _She's very pretty. You carry her picture around in your wallet so she must be your girl. Is she your girl?_

His fingers tightened on the photo.

 _I saw her, you know. Going into your apartment building with that cop Jacoby._

His eyes recognized the brown stains for what they were. Dried blood.

 _I bet she'd be a real nice girl to have. And blonde. Just like that other girl. You remember that other girl, Gunn? The one that ended up dead over across the tracks?_

His gaze found Edie's and he felt the warm flush that accompanied a cold sweat.

 _Are you okay?_

His lips parted and for the briefest of moments Pete wondered if he had said the words out loud. But Edie's concerned expression didn't change. She continued to meet his gaze with that soft blue stare that could turn his world upside down.

 _I'm fine, just fine. Don't worry about me._

His heartbeat kicked up a notch and then another. He had awakened and she'd been beside his bed. And she had smiled as only she could. She'd held water to his lips and read to him and fed him soup and hadn't looked away when the doctor pulled aside the bed covers and the cotton gown and uncovered all those bruises. She had showered him and shaved him and dressed him and undressed him and cried over him and brought him home and stayed with him. She had called Pop and told him what happened and Pop had come and Pete knew there was a story there that he didn't know about yet. But he knew he would. All in good time. She had done all those things. For him. Because she loved him.

"I'll always worry about you."

Edie's forehead crinkled in confusion, her eyes narrowing into those pretty half moons like they always did when she was trying to figure something out. Sudden understanding lit up her face and she smiled that big smile he loved and just as suddenly the bile rose in his throat as he saw in his mind's eye the body of a young woman lying in a heap next to the railroad tracks, her pretty smile gone forever, her blonde hair streaked with mud, her clothing torn. And her face became Edie's face, her smile Edie's smile, her hair the soft blonde of the woman sitting on the bed with him. Suddenly his legs were over the side of the bed and he was in the bathroom and on his knees vomiting into the toilet, his head pounding, his heart pummeling his chest, his hands clenching the cold porcelain.

Pete was unaware of Pop taking half a step in the same direction then pausing as Edie brushed past him, her gentle touch and soft voice letting the older man know she'd take care of the younger. Then she was beside him on the hard floor, her fingers gentle on his neck and against his hair. A damp cloth cooled his face and a tumbler of cold water was pressed into his hand. After a while, after his stomach had emptied itself of everything it held, he slumped backwards against the side of the bathtub and she sat beside him and he listened as she quietly began to talk about the week he had been missing and how she had stayed here at his apartment because once she had come over with Jacoby she couldn't bear to leave. How friends had stopped by constantly – his, hers, theirs. How Mother had been here with her that morning Jacoby had come by to inform her about the house the police had raided and how they had found personal items there that belonged to him and that he was probably dead. She told him that Jacoby didn't say the words, _wouldn't_ say the words, but she had seen it in his eyes and heard it in his voice. She told him about the anger and fear and frustration and rage and helplessness she had felt. Anger at herself for the pain she had caused him. Fear that she'd never see him again. Frustration with Jacoby at what she perceived as his ineffectiveness. Rage against the person who had done this to him. Helplessness at being unable to do anything herself. And she'd ended up right here where they were now and had done the same thing he had done. Mother had found her and tucked her into his bed and told her that everything would be all right.

Pete shifted on the hard tile and reached his arm around her, pulling her tight against his chest and burying his face in her hair. She reached for his other hand, pulling it toward her, separating the square paper he still held crumpled between his fingers. She saw her own face staring back at her from the photograph and without warning something deep down inside her snapped and she was crying into his shoulder in a way she had never cried in her entire life. Great heaving sobs that came from some unknown recess deep within her body, inside her soul, from the secret places in her heart. She clung to him desperately, hands grasping at him as he pulled her into his lap and raised his knees up and held her there in the warmth and tightness of his embrace, his arms and body providing a refuge she had been afraid she had lost forever. His cheek once again found the softness of her hair and he rocked her as he uttered tender words of comfort, holding her as the sobs were slowly reduced to hiccuping breaths and the tears subsided and began to dry upon her cheeks.

As he felt her relax against him Pete lifted his head and looked down at Edie's face, at the streaks of her tears and her runny nose and red eyes and flushed cheeks. He reached up and ran his fingers through her hair and brought his hand back down and used his palm to tenderly wipe the remaining moisture from her cheeks. When she didn't react to either caress he came to the conclusion she'd cried herself to sleep so he sat there and held her until his legs fell asleep and the light from the bedroom window dimmed and grayed. She woke when he finally moved, his back sore from sitting on the cold floor and leaning against the tub.

"Pete?" Her voice was groggy and confused as she slid from his lap.

"You know what?" He turned and moved to his knees with some effort.

"What?" Edie struggled to her feet feeling stiff and awkward and not quite all there.

"We're quite the pair." Pete accepted Edie's assistance to help him stand.

"I guess we deserve each other." She attempted a smile.

"You know what else?"

The woman's smile grew a little as she hesitantly shook her head.

"Mother's a pretty smart woman." His lips straightened as he returned her smile. "When she says everything will be all right then everything will be all right." His palms framed her face and he leaned forward to gently kiss her lips. "And everything's all right. I'm here and you're here. We're both where we belong. Together." Pete swallowed thickly as the truth of those words settled in. "Neither one of us is going anywhere ever again." His lips met hers in another kiss and he leaned his forehead against hers. "I promise."

"I love you, Pete."

"I'm glad you do." He smiled again and his breath was warm against her face.

Edie pulled away and made a face, feeling sticky and clammy and disheveled.

"I need to take a shower."

"Again? You just took one with me." Pete watched as she began to unbutton her blouse. "You must be the cleanest girl in town," he teased, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra and then helping her step out of her slacks. "Need any help?" He winked, still trying to lighten the mood.

Edie shook her head and wiped at her face as Pete turned the water on and pulled the curtain into place.

"I just don't want your dad to see me like this. I'll only be a minute."

He nodded, saying he would tell Pop she'd be right down. He'd probably started supper so long ago it would be considered leftovers by now. He turned to leave the bathroom then turned back, pulling the shower curtain aside to look in on her, admiring for a moment the way the warm water streamed down her body, the steam curling the tips of her hair and bringing a pink blush to her skin. He smiled at her questioning look.

"You don't have to worry about what Pop might think. He thinks you're pretty no matter what you look like." His eyes smiled at her. "Just like I do."


	27. Chapter 27

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.**

 _This chapter is dedicated to Melchy, who is always there to answer questions, make suggestions and discuss Pete and Edie._

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 27**

The big brown BarcaLounger sitting in the back corner of Jordan's Furniture Store was the same model as the one in Peter Gunn's living room except for the color. Pop liked the light beige of Pete's new chair but the almost chocolate color this one sported was something that would fit in with his décor back home. Not a word he would normally use, but that was the way Mary Ann McAllister always referred to it. A brief smile very much like his son's curved Frank Gunn's lips for a moment as his mind drifted to the woman Pete had begun teasing him about almost from the moment he had learned of her existence. It would be tough to pick up and head home in a few days, but knowing his lady friend would be there when he got back softened the blow somewhat. He sighed a little sigh and sat down in the chair, grasped the arms and pushed back to move it into a semi-reclining position and leaned across to grab hold of the brochure lying on the seat of an almost identical chair to his right. _Starting_ _at_ _$119.50_. That brought his eyebrows up a smidgen. That wasn't chicken feed by any means. Those were real 1959 American dollars. His eyes found Edie Hart at the other side of the store looking at headboards. That was quite a bit of out-of-pocket money for the girl. Frank turned his head as he sensed someone sitting down in another chair next to him.

"Grandpapa gave Miss Edie a really good deal on that chair she bought the other day," Jimmy Bonelli quietly told him. The boy, a tall rangy kid of maybe eighteen or nineteen, leaned forward in his seat as he watched a couple of other customers browsing nearby. "Way below cost. Told her it was the starter for $119 but it's really one of the high end chairs that usually goes for $189." The younger Bonelli was a dark eyed, dark haired, olive skinned replica of his grandfather Georgio, who was currently busy wandering through the mattress section with Pete. "He would have given it to her for free if she'd let him but she wouldn't. So he fudged a little and made his friend Barney swear not to say anything. She may have figured it out anyway and just let my grandpa have his way, I don't know." The young man shrugged narrow shoulders at Frank's curious look. "Mr. Gunn helped us out last year when one of the rackets started hitting us up for protection money. Not just us but a lot of other businesses in the area, too. We really owe him a lot. Grandpapa would do anything for Mr. Gunn. I just thought you should know that."

Frank nodded as the boy quickly excused himself to wait on a beckoning customer. He sought out his son with his gaze once again, letting it linger for a few moments, another smile touching his lips at the animated conversation taking place between Pete and the elder Mr. Bonelli, before allowing his eyes to drift back in Edie's direction. He watched as she ran a hand along the top rail of an iron headboard and then glanced over at Pete a couple aisles away. After giving the bed frame a final speculative look she turned away and made a slow beeline for the detective, who seemed to have settled on one or the other of two mattress sets he was looking at. Frank saw his son hold out a hand toward the girl while she was still a good ten feet away, sensing she was nearby without even turning to look, his attention on something Mr. Bonelli was saying. Pete nodded, his fingers lacing with Edie's, and the other man smiled and moved away, leaving the man and woman to themselves. Frank's attention was so focused on the couple that he didn't realize the store owner was standing next to him until the other man said something. He looked up at Bonelli, dressed leisurely in a lightweight gray suit and narrow black tie, and gave him a distracted smile as he sat down in the chair his grandson had recently vacated.

"Times they change, no?" The older man leaned back and to the side toward Frank as though sharing a confidence. His voice was thick with an Italian accent direct from the mother country. "When I am young, when you are young." He gave a lazy shrug and motioned with his hands. "You bring _fidanzata_ to do this..." Bonelli nodded toward the couple who were now trying out one of the mattresses, Pete lying flat on his back with arms and legs stretched out, Edie sitting on the side bouncing up and down a little to test the firmness while grinning cheekily at the man. "You are arrested, no? The _polizia_ they come, they throw you in jail." He bellowed a laugh. "Papa comes after you and you run like the dog."

Frank easily translated the one word to mean police but was unsure of the other. And did he really want to know? After as uncomfortable an evening as he had ever spent with his son he had been glad this morning had started out on a brighter note. Part of it had been his own fault and part had been Pete's fault and it had reminded him of those tenuous teenage years that every parent and child endure. It had also brought back memories of those first few weeks after his son had transitíoned out of the Army after the war, how he had come home with that chip still on his shoulder regarding his mom's death and how he hadn't found out about it until two months after the fact, something that had remained a sore spot between them until just recently.

" _Fidanzata_?" He hoped his pronunciation wasn't too far off.

Another shrug was his only answer as Bonelli seemed to try to find the correct word.

" _Ragazza_." The man searched for his grandson and waved him over. " _Fidanzata_." He motioned toward Peter Gunn and Edie Hart. "Tell me what is the word."

Jimmy smiled and chuckled as though being the old man's translator was something he'd been doing for a long time.

" _Fidanzata_." The word rolled off the young man's tongue and he gave it some thought, wanting to make sure he came up with just the right meaning. " _Ragazza_. _Donna_." His shrug was almost identical to his grandfather's. "Girlfriend, but much more. Betrothed. Fiancee? Something like that."

Frank Gunn blinked and raised a bemused eyebrow and let his attention shift to Edie as she held out a hand to Pete to help him sit up, a wince crossing his face as he gingerly swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood up, his arm going around the woman's shoulders as they meandered over to the second mattress set. They sat down side by side, thighs touching, the white linen of Edie's slacks and her rose-hued cotton blouse a marked contrast to Pete's dark gray trousers, light blue striped shirt and dark blue sleeveless cardigan. His dark head leaned toward her blonde locks as they talked, shoulders bumping casually as she said something that brought that certain type of rare smile to his face that only she had the ability to elicit. The one that tipped the corners of his mouth and deepened the dimples in his cheeks and brought that look to his eyes that was reserved for her alone. He certainly appeared to be in a more mellow mood than he had been the previous evening...

* * *

Their supper had become tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches rather than the tenderloin steaks Frank had picked up at the meat market late that afternoon. Pete had come downstairs about an hour and a half after he had left the two of them alone in the bedroom, telling him that Edie was showering and would be down in a few minutes. By that time it was already after eight o'clock and way past time for setting up the grill or opting for the broiler. So the steaks would have to wait for the next day. He'd been in the process of heating the soup when Edie came into the kitchen and began gathering plates, bowls and utensils, setting everything on the breakfast bar rather than the dining room table. Frank's keen gaze spotted her red-rimmed eyes, apparent even after the shower she had taken in an attempt to camouflage them, but he didn't say anything, merely went about his business as she and Pete exchanged a few words and sipped on fresh coffee.

"That fellow at your butcher shop up the street remembered me from the last time I was here," Frank mentioned, patiently stirring the soup with a wire whisk. "Can you believe that? It's been what? Almost three years? And I only met him that one time."

"Ernie?" Pete's reply was an absent one as he sipped his coffee and watched Edie flip through the evening newspaper. His fingers drew circles around the rim of the cup and he allowed his mind to wander. The last time Pop had visited him Edie hadn't existed. Not in his life anyway. He hadn't known her, it would be almost a year and a half before he would meet her. That was hard to imagine. There were times he found it difficult to even remember what his life was like before she came into it. He heard Pop continue to talk but his brain seemed uninterested in forming a response, remained preoccupied instead with thoughts of the woman seated next to him.

Supper was a quiet affair and afterwards Edie had tried to shoo both of them out of the kitchen so she could do the few dishes they had dirtied. Frank had finally obeyed her not so subtle hints and headed off into the living room while Pete had managed to resist her charms and remained behind to lend his hand to drying. Some minutes later he joined his dad, folding himself into his recliner as he handed Pop the sports page. Fifteen minutes went by while Frank perused the boxing results, his questioning gaze eventually landing on Pete after finishing the baseball wrap-up and laying the folded paper aside.

"Are we by ourselves tonight?"

Pete's eyes flicked briefly to the closed bedroom door at the top of the stairs then back to the local section he'd been giving desultory attention to.

"Edie decided to give her parents a call and didn't want to bother us."

"Have they been up to visit lately?"

"No." The PI slapped his portion of newspaper together and tossed it toward the coffee table where it ended up hanging precariously over one edge. His headache had returned and he still hadn't heard back from Jacoby about his case file and the last thing he really had any desire to discuss at the moment was Mama and Papa Hart. Luckily Pop seemed to take the hint. But that didn't mean he stopped trying to carry on a conversation with his only offspring.

"You didn't seem to enjoy looking through that box of old pictures as much as I thought you would." He ignored Pete's aggravated shrug. "There are more in the other shoe box. The two smaller boxes have some things of yours that I found when I was rummaging through the basement, things from when you were a kid. Your coin collection. That set of little tin soldiers. The Buck Rogers ray gun your Gramps gave you. Stuff like that. The bag..." Frank paused and rubbed the back of his neck. "There are some things in the bag that I'd like us to look through together, just you and me, if that's all right. Sometime before I leave, doesn't matter when, just whenever we have some time by ourselves."

"Fine." Pete eyed his dad. "When are you leaving?"

"Tuesday morning. I stopped by the airport while I was out today." Frank offered up a smile. "I figure that will still give me a chance to visit _Mother's_ to listen to Edie sing. Doesn't she go back to work Monday night?"

"Mmm."

The elder Gunn looked at his son in silence for a few moments.

"You shouldn't take things so seriously, Pete."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That picture. You shouldn't have taken it so seriously." He smiled. "It's one of my very favorites of you but probably not for the reasons you think. That was taken in the first real home your mother and I made together. Then you came along and it became more than that. It became the first home we had as a family. That meant a lot to both of us." His smile turned nostalgic. "You were the best thing that ever happened to your mom and me. That picture reminds me of that every time I look at it."

Pete didn't know what to say to that so he remained silent. But the way he looked at Pop spoke volumes.

"I really like Edie."

"I'm glad." Pete's eyes darted to that closed door again. Edie had been on the telephone with Mama and Papa for a while now. He wondered if that was good or bad. "She really likes you too Pop."

"Can I ask you a question?" Frank clasped his hands on his lap and leaned further back into the soft sofa cushion behind his back and waited for his son's response.

"Can I stop you?" Pete's lips straightened into a half smile.

"Do you two ever discuss marriage?"

"We talk." Pete could feel the aggravation returning and the headache worsening.

Frank waited for him to continue. The silence stretched and became uncomfortable by the time Pete decided to say anything further.

"Look, Pop..." He raked his fingers through his hair and sighed. "I know you're probably uncomfortable with Edie being here overnight. I'm sure there are probably a lot of things about our relationship you find awkward or embarrassing." He made an irritated motion with one hand as Pop started to interrupt. "I know her parents feel the same way. Mama thinks I'm some womanizing Lothario who'll leave her daughter at the drop of a hat for the first pretty girl that walks by. She's as much as told me so."

"Pete, I didn't mean-"

"We talk about getting married. We talk about kids." Pete gave a little one-shouldered shrug. "We talk about a lot of things. But you know what? Those things are between Edie and me. No one else. Not Mama. Not Papa. Not even you, Pop. We know each other. We know where we belong. We know where we're going. And we'll know when we get there."

"Would the two of you be back together right now if you hadn't gone through what you did? If you hadn't been almost killed?" Frank saw the irritated tic in his son's jaw as it clenched and then watched as his expression gradually relaxed. "How long do you think it would have taken you to get back together? And I'm not asking because I'm nosy or because I have doubts about your relationship. I know you love each other. I'm asking because I'm your father and I care about what happens to you, about what happens in your life."

"I don't know, Pop. Maybe." Pete gave that same little shrug. "Maybe not. But we would have been eventually. It's never been a question of how long or if or when. Ever. It never will be. It's just a matter of trusting each other to know what's best at any given time. Of having enough faith in each other that no matter what happens we know we'll be able to get through it. Edie didn't like what happened. I didn't like what happened. But we've gotten past it."

Frank held his stare, seeing and believing the truth and commitment he saw there, then slowly smiled.

"If I was uncomfortable with Edie being here overnight I'd find myself a hotel room." He watched his son take a calming breath and release it. "And I can think of absolutely nothing about your relationship with her that I find awkward or embarrassing. It might not be the way I would go about things but it's your life and I respect that."

Pete nodded and abruptly stood.

"I think I'll go to bed." He gave his dad a small smile but his jaw muscle ticked again in irritation. At himself or at him or at something else Frank didn't know. Pete had seemed grumpy since Frank had come home from running his errands and even when he'd acted irritated over the photographs Pop had thought there was something else going on with him. But he'd made enough waves for tonight, he wasn't about to ask what was bothering him. "Maybe a little sleep will get rid of this headache."

Pete had headed upstairs to bed, stopping momentarily on the landing at the sound of Pop's voice.

"Goodnight son."

"...'night Pop."

* * *

Frank released a sigh. That had been last night. This morning when the couple had found their way downstairs for breakfast Pete had been in a better mood. Edie had apologized for not coming back down last night after talking with her parents. She said she'd closed her eyes for just a minute and the next thing she knew the alarm clock said it was after eleven and Pete was waking her up just enough to get her under the covers. Over eggs and bacon and biscuits they had informed him they were going bed shopping and that he was welcome to come along.

So here they all were, him sitting in a chair he really liked, listening to a salesman talk Italian to him, his son and his someday in the hopefully very near future daughter-in-law bouncing up and down on the end of a mattress several aisles over. They moved to the side of the bed and bounced a few more times. Then Pete lay down and pulled the girl down next to him and they lay there together staring up at the ceiling and grinning. From there they made their way over to the headboard Edie had been looking at earlier and which Pete seemed impressed with. Frank finally caught up with them as they stood at the counter to pay. Pete filled out a check and signed it and handed it to Georgio Bonelli.

"You're sure you like that one? We can get the softer one if you'd rather have it." He looked at Edie as he waited for a receipt.

"It doesn't matter to me." She wrinkled her nose at him. "You know I can fall asleep on anything. My head hits the pillow and I'm gone. You're the one who tosses and turns all night."

"I don't toss and turn," the man retorted. "I sleep like a rock without a care in the world."

The woman raised amused eyebrows.

"This from a man who sleeps with one eye open and one ear to the ground," she teased. "And a gun under his pillow."

Pete accepted his receipt along with a promise from Mr. Bonelli that the new bed would be delivered sometime between nine and eleven the next day and that the old one would be taken away and disposed of properly. He draped his arm over his girl's shoulders as they left the store, Pop tagging along behind.

"About that gun under my pillow." He gave her shoulder a squeeze and dropped his arm to her waist, his smile tired but happy. "Try not to spread that around. It could ruin my reputation..."


	28. Chapter 28

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other and always will. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.**

 _This chapter took a while. I hope it was worth the wait. Thanks as always to Melchy for her input and several suggestions that made it into this chapter.  
_

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 28**

Cold metal against his bare chest had Peter Gunn flinching and Joe Carson chuckling at his patient. The doctor had dropped by about an hour after Edie Hart and Frank Gunn had gone out together to run their own separate errands, bickering good-naturedly as they went out the door about what time Edie would pick Pop up at Chadwick's and what department she might find him in should she be early. Pete had no idea why his dad had decided to visit the big department store aside from Pop's offhand comment that he'd left home in such a hurry that he had come away with only the bare necessities and without something he decided he needed. Edie on the other hand had been quite transparent concerning her objectives. She needed to run by the dry cleaner's to pick up two more dresses, a seemingly endless cycle, then had to stop at the dress shop to pick up another that had been waiting there for her since Mrs. Fleming had finished the alterations over two weeks ago. She wanted to drop by the club to pick up the music the combo planned for Monday night. Pete knew she wouldn't get away from _Mother's_ in a hurry. Emmett and the guys would be happy to see her even though she'd been there two nights ago and they'd be loathe to let her go, Barney would have some things to say and Mother herself would want to gossip. They'd missed their girl. He knew how they felt, he didn't want to let her out of his sight. Before or after or in between those stops she intended to go by her apartment to feed and water Thomas. As the two of them headed out the back door and through the laundry room to walk downstairs to the parking garage, after finally deciding on what time and where, Pete had heard his dad say something to Edie about just packing the cat up and bringing him back with her. The PI had missed her reply as the door closed behind them.

"I hope you didn't make an extra trip just to see me." Pete leaned forward as the doctor instructed and this time felt the cold of the stethoscope against his back. He was told to breathe deeply in and out several times. Then the man's much warmer hands probed at his kidney area, eliciting a hiss of discomfort.

"That hurt?" Carson asked. He returned the stethoscope to his black bag and snapped it shut, then scooted over to sit at the edge of the chair across from the PI.

"Not really," Pete responded then grimaced as the doctor chuckled. "Just a little," he admitted.

"Uh huh," the other man grinned. "Same as your ribs, just a little." He leaned back and crossed his legs and clasped his hands over his knee. "Actually today turned out to be another day off for me but not for my wife so I've been at loose ends. As a teacher she has to work Monday through Friday. Me? I'm off and on to the point that half the time I'm not sure when I'm supposed to be at work." Carson smiled and glanced down at his hands and then back up at Pete. "Anyway, it's been at the back of my mind to drop by to check up on you so I figured this was as good a time as any. I'm glad to say you're doing very well. I'm impressed."

"Don't be." The detective smiled. "You plan on charging my insurance company for working on your day off?"

"No," Carson chuckled. "According to my professional calendar this is merely a social call. I just happened to have my little black bag with me in case of an emergency." He looked on as Pete heaved a tired sigh and slipped his arms back through the sleeves of the blue University of Pennsylvania t-shirt he had removed for the doctor's quick exam, gingerly pulling it down over his chest.

"You attended Penn?" He continued at Pete's nod. "Not to sound either nosy or rude, but since when do Ivy League schools offer courses in private investigation?"

"They don't."

"So what's the story?"

Pete leaned back on the sofa, unconsciously imitating the older man's stance, and gave him a considering look before finally offering a little shrug.

"I came up with this idea that I wanted to follow in my dad's footsteps. When I was a little kid he always came home with stories that made his job sound adventurous and exciting and wonderful and I knew I had to be just like him." He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck and smiled ruefully as Joe Carson raised an eyebrow. "I know, I know. Eliot Ness and still-busting and prohibition had gone by the wayside a long time before. But I still wanted to go out there and save the world and right every wrong and prevent every injustice." Pete scratched his forehead reminiscently and peered at his guest. "So after I was discharged from the Army in '45 I looked around for the best criminal justice program I could find and that turned out to be Penn. I graduated with a degree in criminology and a minor in pre-law."

"And became a private investigator."

"Yeah. Long story." Pete's smile turned wry. "Remind me to tell you about it sometime."

"I will," Carson promised.

The PI offered to make a fresh pot of coffee.

"Unless there's somewhere else you have to be," he told his guest. Assuring him there wasn't, but not wanting to intrude on his host's time, the doctor was told not to worry. "I was feeling kind of funny being here all by my lonesome. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be doing with myself before you happened along."

Pete looked with apology at his visitor when the doorbell interrupted their conversation, pushing himself up from the sofa, hitching up his black sweatpants and straightening his shirt as he walked up the two steps to the landing. He told the doctor he'd find the coffee maker on the counter next to the stove if he wanted to get the pot started and that there was a bag of Eight O'Clock Coffee that Edie had picked up from the A&P in the freezer or a can of Folger's in the top cabinet by the refrigerator, the choice was his. Carson nodded amiably and wandered in the direction of the kitchen.

The private investigator stretched his shoulders back and rotated his head from side to side, grimacing at the twinges of pain his movements initiated as he tried to loosen sore muscles. Reaching to open the apartment door his hand stilled on the knob, his attention captured by the fading reddish bruising on the outside of his wrist that he hadn't paid much attention to before. Turning his left wrist over he noticed almost identical marks. The thoughtful frown that briefly creased his forehead was erased by another ring of the bell, this one much more insistent than the first, his unknown visitor keeping a finger on the button longer than Pete liked. He pulled the door open and found Lieutenant Jacoby standing in the hallway, raincoat and hat in place, hands clasped in front of him, a thick folder under one arm.

Jacoby's perpetually droll expression didn't change as he eyed his friend. Without saying a word he brushed past the PI into the apartment, shuffled down the couple steps that led into the living room and strolled toward the sofa, placing the brown folder on the coffee table as he began unbuttoning his coat. The coat remained on but his hat came off, even if it was just to be held in his hand. He glanced around the apartment, noticing it didn't seem quite as neat as usual, but with two extra people there for the time being he figured that was to be expected. His sharp gaze also took note of the dark gray topcoat and black medical bag on the fireplace bench. Finally he shifted his attention to Pete, not surprised to find the other man staring right back at him.

"Nice to see you too, Lieutenant." Pete's expression was somewhere between a smile and a grimace at his friend's lack of greeting or polite inquiry concerning the state of his health. "I'm doing just fine, thanks. Good of you to ask."

Ignoring Pete's sarcasm and without breaking their gaze the Lieutenant tipped his head toward the item he had laid on the coffee table.

"That's not going to solve your problem, Pete." He thrust the hand not holding the hat into his coat pocket and turned away to pace toward the glass doors leading onto the patio, turning around halfway, his eyes landing once again on his friend as he continued speaking in a soft voice. "That file will tell you everything there is to know regarding the investigation. It will answer every question you have about how it was conducted, who was involved, the evidence we collected. Why it began, how it ended, everything in between." Jacoby took the few steps that brought him into the PI's personal space. "The one thing it won't give you is what happened to you during those eight days. You can try reading between the lines of the reports, pull out that fine tooth comb you're so adept at using, employ all your fancy detective tricks. In the end you'll still only find one version of what happened, one side of the story."

The PI folded his arms across his chest and his gaze slipped sideways to the folder. He looked again at the policeman and lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"Maybe it'll give me a clue, jog a memory." Determined blue eyes met gentle brown. "Maybe it can shed some light on a few things." He shrugged again and offered up a reluctant smile. "I just need to know what happened to me. If there's something in that file that can help me then I'll take the chance that I'll find it."

"I tried calling your doctor to ask his opinion about letting you look at it. That's why it took me a little while to get back to you, it wasn't because I was ignoring you. I was told he was off today so I gave up on that idea and just decided to bring it over." The cop's tone was as blunt as usual. No beating around the bush. The detective appreciated that he could trust Jacoby to be up front with him but he wasn't sure he was happy with his actions. Knowing his friend had spotted the doctor's belongings Pete wordlessly tipped his head toward the kitchen. The policeman continued to eye him then stepped forward and around him, tossing his hat to a chair in the process. He made it halfway to the other room before abruptly changing direction and heading back to the coffee table to grab the file, giving Pete a suspicious glance as he walked past him for the second time. The PI maintained his position, back turned toward the kitchen, smiling to himself at Jacoby's antics as he heard the kitchen door open and then swing shut.

Pete figured it would take just a few minutes for Jacoby to have his conversation with Carson but fifteen went by before the cop finally reappeared and somewhat reluctantly placed the case file back on the table. As he began buttoning his coat in preparation to head back out into the fine mist that was falling he turned to the PI.

"I know it must be rough on you not being able to remember what happened. You like the details. That's who you are. I understand that." He paused, retrieving his hat from the chair, his thoughtful gaze on his friend's face. "I only want what's best for you, Pete."

The detective could swear he almost heard an apology in there somewhere but he wasn't convinced of it. He stood at ease, hands clasped in front of him as he returned Jacoby's solemn gaze.

"I'm a big boy, Lieutenant. I don't need to be pampered."

"Sure, Pete." The policeman's eyes slid over him as though looking for an answer to an unasked question. Then he nodded, tapping his hat against his thigh a few times before bringing it up and intently checking the brim. "I'm sorry about Leopold showing up on your doorstep yesterday afternoon. He's a real shyster but he still knows better than that. The boys brought him in this morning on harassment and tampering charges and the D.A. threw the book at him but he's out on bail already. That's just the way it goes." He watched as Pete nodded. "I should go. Crime waits for no man." He tried a smile at his own joke but it barely broke through his almost expressionless demeanor.

"I know you like to get to the precinct early but this is ridiculous." Pete teased, his eyes smiling at his friend. "You don't have time for just one cup of coffee?"

"I had one while I spoke with the doctor." Jacoby settled his hat on his head at just the right angle, eyeing the other man all the while, his mouth straightening with dry humor as Pete's head went back and an eyebrow went up. "How's the head? Are you sure you'll be able to get through that file all right?"

"I'm fine. I'll manage."

"I imagine there will be a few things in there you won't be happy about." The Lieutenant shoved his fisted hands into his coat pockets. "And I'm sure you will have questions..." he continued with a long-suffering tilt of his lips and a knowing yet almost imperceptible shake of his head, "... _lots_ of questions. You know where to find me if you want to talk about any of it."

Pete's only reply was a slight nod, the barest tipping of his chin.

"That file needs to be back in my office Monday evening."

Again a nod from the PI, this one a bit more pronounced, and he followed behind Jacoby as the cop turned to leave.

"See you, Pete." He favored his friend with his own brief nod as he slipped out of the apartment.

Pete stood where he was for a few moments, going over the conversation in his mind, wondering at the strangeness he felt. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs then looked up at the sound of an amused voice.

"Is it all right if I come out now?" Joe Carson stood in the kitchen doorway, the coffee pot in one hand and two mugs in another. Pete chuckled.

"Yeah... and thanks."

"For what?" Carson allowed the kitchen door to swing shut behind him.

"For whatever it was you said that convinced him to leave that file with me."

The doctor shrugged.

"He asked if I thought it was okay for you to read it and I said yes."

"That took fifteen minutes?"

"That took about ten seconds. The other fourteen minutes and fifty seconds were spent discussing how the fish are biting down at Eagle Springs." Carson set the coffee pot on the bar and smiled as he extended a mug toward his new friend. "Coffee?"

* * *

He knew exactly when she opened her eyes and began to drowsily watch him. And she knew he knew. And he knew she- Well, they both knew. The quiet rustle of pages being turned was suddenly not as quiet and his stealthy movements as he tried not to wake her became less pronounced. He was sitting up in bed, his pillow and an extra one from the closet placed behind his back, fingers restlessly flipping papers bound in a brown file folder. When he'd finally made it up to bed Thursday night Edie had been asleep on top of the covers, the bedroom phone she had used to call Mama and Papa Hart still on the bed next to her, and he had somehow managed to get her under the blanket before crawling into bed beside her and falling right to sleep. The night before that she'd been working, Mother and the guys and the patrons of the club enjoying her presence while he was lying here beneath the sheet trying to sleep but wishing the whole while that she was lying next to him. Tonight he sat up talking with Pop for a while then helped him unfold the sofa bed before following Edie upstairs. She'd been sleeping soundly but at least she was beside him, the warmth of her body seeping into his as she lay against his side, one bare leg curved between both of his the result of her instinctive turn toward him as he took possession of his side of the bed.

"Are you gonna read all night?" Her sleepy voice was muffled into her pillow.

Edie didn't ask what he was reading and Pete didn't mention what it was. Again it was something they both knew the other knew. She had noticed the file lying on the end table next to his new chair when she and Pop came home that afternoon. Pete had mentioned that Dr. Carson had come by for a visit and an impromptu physical exam and had stayed for a while and that Lieutenant Jacoby had stopped by for a few minutes. Carson would have had no reason to leave a file behind. Lieutenant Jacoby would. Her gaze had sought out Pete's when he mentioned the policeman and from the look they exchanged she had known without a doubt what the folder contained. She had felt her heart speed up and thump uncomfortably against her chest as it had done on so many occasions during that week he was gone. She would do anything to keep him from knowing the pain of those days, to keep him from the knowledge he was consciously seeking. But she also knew, Pete being Pete, that he wouldn't rest until he remembered what happened to him and could fit those memories to the facts of the case, to the black and white of the papers contained in the file his friend had delivered to him.

"Maybe." He wouldn't read all night. He couldn't. His head was tired and his eyes felt grainy and the words were swimming around on the paper. But his lips straightened into a little smile and he turned over another sheet of paper and his gaze remained fixed on the page as he continued. "Unless you can come up with something better for me to do."

Edie's lips twitched as she became more fully awake. Her gaze raked over her bedmate's bare chest and broad shoulders, the fading bruises along his ribs and a couple of almost healed scrapes on the inside of one arm reminding her that he was still a little worse for wear, then drifted to the waistband of the blue and white striped boxers just visible above the blanket that was bunched up around his waist. Pushing her own pillow out of the way she sat up, settling herself comfortably at his side and nudging him to move over so his pillows could accommodate both of them.

"Pete." Her eyes drifted to the alarm clock on his nightstand, its slowly moving hands telling her it was almost one in the morning. In the normal scheme of things this would be their busiest time of day, Pete out on a case and her on stage at Mother's singing to the beat of the combo. But these recent days had been anything but normal. She wanted that personal and intimate normal back again.

A noncommittal humming sound came from the man's throat as he continued perusing his reading material. He was either engrossed in his study or was pretending to ignore her. Edie's eyes narrowed suspiciously and she reached out a hand to cover the page he was looking at.

"Sorry lady..." He took her hand as though to move it aside but instead turned it over, his thumb rubbing along her soft skin. "Palm reading isn't in my field of expertise."

Edie watched his fingers tangle with hers. Meanwhile Pete's eyes admired the hazy pink color of the nightie she was wearing, the straps clinging tentatively to her shoulders, the lacy front slipping down to reveal the subtle curve of her breasts. He drank in her sleepy blue eyes and the tangled mess of her hair. The loveliness of this woman never failed to amaze him. The blonde leaned in closer.

"What _is_ your field of expertise?" she teased, offering him a coy look through her eyelashes.

The gentle softness of the clinging kiss he laid upon her lips held an erotic overtone that outshone any more heated or impassioned caress he might have shared with her. Her lips were tingling when he finally pulled away, her face flushed and warm, that singular awareness that only Peter Gunn could evoke coursing through her body.

"Oh Pete..." Her smile was a thing of beauty. "Lip reading?"

An indulgent smile graced the man's lips as he slipped the police file shut and dropped it to the floor. He reached and switched off the lamp, an arm wrapping around Edie as he scootched under the covers, taking her with him and pulling the pillows down into place beneath their heads.

"Tired?" Pete touched his lips to Edie's temple as she made herself comfortable against his side and wrapped her arm around him, her head eschewing the pillow for the comfort of his shoulder.

"It _has_ been a long day." Edie smiled into the darkness.

"Hmm," he commiserated. "I guess that means you're not interested in making out." He felt her smile against his cheek as she tipped her head to squint at him. He could detect the soft glow of her eyes resulting from a small shaft of light filtering through the open window. She smelled good. Like lavender and soap and bath powder. A girly aroma that assailed his senses.

"Somehow I got the distinct impression that activity was something you were saving for that nice big new bed," the woman chided.

"Well..." His lips teased hers, outlining them with tiny kisses. "I am. I just figured a little necking wouldn't do any harm." He tangled his fingers in her hair as her hand found his cheek, their lips meeting and moving in a lingering kiss. Edie gave a sigh when it finally ended, her fingers drifting across Pete's forehead, smoothing his hair, touching upon his mouth.

"I'll miss it," she eventually said, her voice low and tinged with an emotion somewhere between sad and amused.

"Miss what?"

"This bed."

"Honey, it's just a bed." Despite his words his arm tightened around her.

"Pete, no... it's not just a bed." She pushed up on her elbow to stare down at him. "It's-"

"It's what?" he asked when she didn't continue. It took her a while to answer.

"It's a part of you that you gave to me." He clasped her hand as her fingers curled around his. "A part of you where we've slept and made love and talked and laughed..." Her hand left his to trail along the warm smooth skin of his chest. "Where we've lain together like we are now and touched each other and shared secrets... somewhere away from the rest of the world and other people and work and responsibilities." She paused momentarily, her fingernails raking along his side before coming to rest on his shoulder. "I've always thought of this as the one place where we could hide from everyone and everything. The one place in the world that's just ours."

Pete's hand went to the back of her neck and he pulled her face to his, his lips finding hers in another kiss that was as gentle as the previous one yet held the firm promise of all those things she was talking about.

"And you tell me _I'm_ the sentimental one," he teased as he released her.

His amused chuckle cut through the darkness as Edie's head found his shoulder again and she settled into the warmth of his side. His arm curved around her and pulled her closer.

"I can call Georgio in the morning and tell him we changed our mind."

"No, Pete." He felt the breath of her sigh against his skin. "I know I'm being silly. It's just that this bed holds so many memories."

"We're replacing the bed not the memories. And we'll make new memories." He reached for the blanket and pulled it up around them and closed his eyes and held this woman he loved. "Silly..."


	29. Chapter 29

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. I wish I could tempt him away from her but that will never happen.  
**

 _This is the first of a couple chapters of light-hearted fluff. There must always be some good to go along with the not so good._

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 29**

It had been a strange morning. But strangely _enough_ it had been as close to normal as things had been for a while. Edie had been up and out of the apartment early to meet one of her best girlfriends for breakfast and shopping. Pete had gotten the impression there was more to it than that but hadn't asked, sometimes it was better that way, had instead encouraged her to go despite her own hesitancy. He had then beaten his dad to the punch by pulling out the waffle iron and conjuring up their morning meal. Following breakfast Frank had finally disclosed what he had been so eager to go to Chadwick's Department Store to purchase. A new camera.

"It's a Nikon F," Pop told him. "Just came out in March." Handing the camera over to Pete he pulled the manual out of the box and his reading glasses out of his pocket. "The camera I have now is at least ten years old. This one beats it by a mile." His eyebrows went up as he began reading what the new camera could do. "Maybe ten..." he muttered, those same eyebrows coming together in concentration. After a few minutes of silence Frank glanced up. "What do you think?"

"It's a fine camera, Pop," Pete answered, handing it back. "Just fine."

"I'll need to get a few pictures before I leave." Frank reattached the lens cap.

"You don't say." Pete tried hard to hide a knowing smile.

"Edie's not one of those girls who hates to have her picture taken is she?" The older man peered over the top of his glasses at his son. Pete had sent him the one picture of the two of them together at the New Year's Eve party. From that photo she didn't appear camera shy. But you never knew. After all, it was the only picture Pete had sent. "She's not one of those that has to run off to powder her nose or comb her hair every time so she looks perfect for the camera is she?" he teased.

This time Pete did smile. No, that certainly didn't describe Edie Hart. His smile widened. Pop had given him a hard time about those old photographs a couple days earlier but he had meant well in bringing them with him. Maybe he should return the favor. He stood and moved to the low cabinets lining one wall of the living room, opened the door of one and pulled out a box. Not a shoe box, he didn't have enough photographs to fill that large of a box. Not yet. He removed the lid as he sat down beside his dad on the sofa then set the box to the side as he lifted out the short stack of pictures. He handed them one by one to Frank, after first taking a brief moment to study each one, and offered a couple words of description for each. There were several more from the New Year's Eve party. A couple candid shots from a Christmas Eve party at _Mother's_ that were obviously taken of them unawares, they were smooching, what looked like a sprig of mistletoe in the girl's hair, Barney standing in the background with a big grin on his face. Three sepia prints from a Photomatic booth that Pete said were taken at the Fairgrounds on the Fourth of July the previous year. Frank closely inspected a half dozen very nice five by seven portrait shots of Pete and Edie at a fancy affair on Valentine's Day, several standing, several seated at a dinner table, dressed in their very best, sporting content smiles. Pete decided on the best two of the bunch for his dad to keep. There were a half dozen other photographs taken at various places that Frank didn't recognize and that his son didn't expound on to any great degree before passing them along for him to look at.

Father and son had spent the remainder of the morning in mostly companionable silence. Pete gathered up the police file Jacoby had delivered and quietly perused it, taking a few breaks to rest his eyes, make a fresh pot of coffee and answer a few telephone calls. Pop finished reading the last few chapters of _A_ _Tale of Two Cities_ that Edie hadn't gotten to when Pete was in the hospital and then studied his camera manual. Both men were half asleep in their respective chairs when Jimmy Bonelli arrived with Pete's new bed, two warehouse boys tagging along to help bring it in and set it up. Getting the old double bed downstairs wasn't too much of a problem but getting the queen-size mattresses upstairs and into the bedroom was another story, especially the box spring. The three boys tiredly but gladly accepted the three ten dollar bills Pete produced from a bureau drawer. When Edie got home sometime after twelve-thirty both men had finally succumbed to the sleep that had played games with them earlier, Frank with the unopened morning newspaper on his lap and the PI with a book in his hand.

* * *

Edie Hart eased herself down to sit next to her man – her partner, her best friend, her sweetheart, her lover. She didn't like the term boyfriend. She and Pete were more than that. Much more. They were two grown adults involved in an adult relationship, not two kids marking time until something better came along. They had their ups and downs just like every couple but they always managed to find their way through them together. Pop was right, Edie mused as she crawled over Pete to sit in the space between his nice warm body and the arm of the sofa. If these past weeks were the worst thing she and Pete ever had to endure then they would be very lucky. They _were_ very lucky. Pete raised his arm, holding the folded section of the newspaper containing the crossword out in front of him as she got herself settled, her legs draped over his lap as she sat sideways facing him. Those shapely legs were clad in a pair of pink and white flannel lounge pants that he had never seen before and she had pulled on one of his white tees that she'd filched from his bureau drawer. Her feet were bare and her toenails were painted a pink color that almost matched her pants. Pete decided she looked very cute. He moved his free hand to her thigh, rubbing his fingers over the soft material he found there.

"These new?"

The rough timber of Pete's voice brought a warm glow to her insides. Edie felt the same warm glow suffuse her cheeks and knew from the teasing smile in his eyes that Pete had noticed. He could do that to her. Still. A word, a look, a touch. They'd known each other for a year and a half, had been together as a couple for basically the same length of time, had been in a sexual relationship for a year, his knowledge of her body was as intimate as her own, perhaps more... and he could still make her blush. The sound of her name on his lips, the expression in his eyes when he looked at her, the feel of his fingers touching her skin. Those things did something to her that was difficult to describe. They made her tingle inside, made her body hum, made her feel like a naive schoolgirl experiencing her first crush.

"Mmm hmm." Her eyes followed the movement of his fingers. "I bought them today."

"While you were out shopping with June?" Pete returned his attention to the crossword that now rested on Edie's knees, at the same time raising his feet to the hassock in front of him and crossing his ankles. "Did you have a good time?" He shot her a questioning glance before setting the nib of the pencil on an empty square.

Edie shrugged, looking on silently as Pete penciled in a six letter word for firearm. He looked up when he failed to receive a verbal response, curious at the pained expression on her face.

"What's the matter? Have a headache? Stomach ache?" He leaned a little to the side and tilted his head a bit to search her face. "Toothache?" he teased. "Heartache?" His mouth tipped in a smile but his eyes remained serious. Edie's silence had been noticeable since she returned from her outing with June Holton. Even Pop had commented to him about it. Pete was used to her quiet times whenever she visited with her friend Sheila Bell, he had a pretty good idea what caused those, but her silence since coming home from her outing with June was unusual.

Edie scowled at him and aimed a poke at his ribs with her fingers, remembering just in time that they remained tender, giving him a little smack on the shoulder instead.

"Try pain in the-" Pete slapped a gentle hand over her mouth and shushed her and gave an amused nod toward the open glass doors leading to the patio behind them.

"Not in front of the children," he playfully reprimanded.

Edie rolled her eyes and mumbled something then grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away from her mouth.

"Neck. Pain in the neck." She shook her head, her eyes chastising him. "You're a nut."

Frank Gunn snickered from where he sat relaxing out on the patio, comfortably seated on the soft cushion of a metal porch chair, legs stretched out in front of him and his feet resting on the seat of a second chair. His face was hidden behind the sports section of the morning edition of the _News_ _Standard_ and Thomas the ginger-colored cat was curled up in his lap. Edie had indeed packed the feline up in his red and black houndstooth-patterned carrier and brought him back with her to the PI's apartment the previous afternoon, along with his sand box, some toys and several cans of Puss 'n Boots cat food. She had also brought along what appeared to Frank to be at least two weeks worth of clothes. He knew that was an exaggeration on his part but it still seemed like a lot of dresses. Plus the bag filled with unmentionables. At least that's what he figured the bag contained. Some of the dresses had gone into the downstairs closet, some she had taken upstairs. The sand box was placed in the laundry room, the cat food was put in a cabinet in the kitchen and the toys found their way to the living room. Frank snickered again as he recalled the manner in which the little cat had pounced on Pete before the man had known he was there, eliciting a sissified squeal from the manly private investigator. Edie had laughed until tears were running down her cheeks and he had given his son a hard time all evening concerning his unmanly reaction to the feline's antics.

Today Pete and Edie had collaborated on fixing a late lunch, the woman doing more watching than preparing, and following the meal Pop had elected to sit outside, getting himself some fresh air while giving the other two some together time before he made a move to get himself ready to head out by himself this evening.

"Hey, watch it out there!" came his son's good-natured warning. His attention divided between his girl and the puzzle, Pete answered another clue then looked at Edie again.

"Tell me what's wrong, honey."

"June and Rob broke up." Her fingers were picking disconsolately at the dark knit of the sweater covering his shoulder and her eyes were following their progress. "I'm worried about her. She tried to put on a brave face at breakfast but I could see she was hurting."

"I'm sorry to hear that. He seemed like a nice guy." Pete tossed the crossword aside and stretched his arm along the back of the couch to curve around her shoulders, pulling her closer and giving her temple a lingering kiss. Considering their own circumstances over the past weeks learning of her friend's personal issue must have come as a blow to Edie. He reached his fingers to play with her soft blonde hair. "What happened?"

"He told June she wanted more from their relationship than he could give her." Pete's hand gently combed through her hair and she turned her cheek into his palm. "He said he's not ready to settle down and get married and have kids." Edie raised confused blue eyes to his and gave him a perplexed frown. "June said he told her he might not want kids at all."

"Sounds like something they should have talked about before they got too serious."

Edie nodded against his hand.

"I guess." She smiled sadly. "But she was so happy. She was making so many plans."

"She'll find someone else," Pete promised. "Someone who'll appreciate her for who she is and will want the same things she does. June's a real nice girl. And she's pretty." He smiled, his gaze drifting lazily over _his_ girl's face. "A man would be a fool to pass up a combination like that."

"I want lots of babies," the woman abruptly said as she reached her hand further, fingers gentle against the material of his shirt as they fiddled with the top button.

Pete froze in the act of reaching around her for his cup of coffee that sat cooling on the end table, their faces about six inches apart. His eyes widened just the tiniest bit and his eyebrows rose a fraction as he stared at her.

Frank Gunn peered cautiously around the edge of the newspaper, then shook with silent laughter at the look on his son's face.

"Someday." Edie appended softly, smiling one of her big teasing smiles and patting his cheek. "When the time is right."

"Thanks for clarifying that," Pete sighed, his slightly panicked expression disappearing only to be replaced by one of uncertainty. It looked funny on him and it had Edie trying hard not to laugh. He leaned back and looked down to watch as her fingers deftly undid and redid the button she was toying with. She always called him a fidgeter, usually with amused laughter or an expression of long-suffering, but she was just as bad because she had to have her hands on him all the time, her fingers always toying with his lapel or tie or collar. Today appeared to be button day. "Define lots."

"Oh, I don't know. Four or five." She perfected a thoughtful frown as she pretended to consider her answer. She wet her lips and shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. "Maybe six. Three of each would be nice."

"You want six kids?" Now his eyes held a dazed look.

"You told me you like kids," she reminded him with a smug smile. "Remember? _We_ did talk about it. I asked you if you like kids and you asked whose kids and I said anybody's kids and you told me sure, you like kids."

"I did. I do. I remember. You dropped my dime into the river after your penny." A smile tilted his lips as he tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her left ear. "If my memory serves me right – and it does – we didn't let that eleven cents go to waste." An answering smile curved the blonde's lips as she recalled her parting words to him on the dock after they were interrupted by Lieutenant Jacoby during the vicious dog case. Pete's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you playing with me?"

Edie's smile turned suggestive.

"Would you _like_ to play?" She kept her voice too low for Pop to hear.

"Edie." Pete's voice held a tone of gentle exasperation.

"Your ears are turning red."

"My ears do not turn red," the man objected.

"You're embarrassed," the woman chuckled with glee.

"I am not embarrassed! I'm – " Pete sighed. "I don't know what I am," he admitted.

"I'd like to have my six children before I'm old and gray by the way," Edie teased. She was in rare good form today. Another thing he had been missing. He was feeling better, ergo, Edie was feeling better. Which meant she could tease him and harass him and nag him in the manner only two people who were content and comfortable with each other could do.

"And hopefully before _I'm_ dead and buried," Frank Gunn chimed in from the patio. Pete turned his head and glared at his dad. Or at least tried to. All he could see was the open newspaper the man held out in front of himself, the pages rippling as he laughed. "I'd like to get to know at least a couple of them before they lay me out."

"Pop! Don't say things like that." Another sigh escaped him as he moved his gaze back to his girl. "Edie-"

"Does it scare you?" she asked, amused concern written all over her face. "The thought of six kids?"

"Of course it scares me," Pete huffed and gave her a pointed stare. "It would scare _any_ half sane person."

"Well..." Edie tilted her head and stared at him as she pretended to consider. "Maybe we can work out a compromise."

"Why don't we do that," Pete managed, reaching behind her again for his coffee cup and snagging it this time. As he settled back he looked at her pretty face so close to his, free of makeup following her shower and looking so young, the soft blonde hair, the dusky cornflower blue eyes, the tender smile just for him. He set his cup back down, threaded his fingers through her hair and leaned in to kiss her, feeling her palm cup the back of his neck to keep him there. _What_ _compromise?_ he wondered, reveling in the velvety softness of her lips against his. He was kidding himself if he thought there would be any of that, for all the woman's good intentions, because in the end all that mattered to him was what she wanted.

* * *

Pete watched his dad putter around the kitchen, taking things out of cabinets, putting things back in drawers, opening and closing the refrigerator. Frank Gunn had changed into a casual outfit of gray slacks, light blue long-sleeved shirt and dark blue pullover cardigan. He didn't figure Barney cared if he wore a tie or not. Pete had just laughed when he mentioned it, saying the only time he had ever seen the bartender wear a necktie was at Mother's annual Christmas Eve party.

"You really don't have to do this, Pop." The PI leaned against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest and an amused smile on his face. "Edie and I can manage to get our own supper." His smile widened when the older man gave him a sideways look and raised an eyebrow. "Fine, _I_ can manage. Edie likes food, she can't help it if she doesn't know how to cook most of it." Pete gave a chuckle and stared as his palm as he rubbed at it with the thumb of his other hand. "She does make a mean omelet when she can keep it from falling."

Frank straightened from the macaroni and cheese dish that was ready to slide into the oven. The stuffed pork chops, one of his son's favorites, were already baking, the French bread could be thrown in right before both dishes were finished cooking and the salad was under wraps in the refrigerator. Wiping his hands on a kitchen towel he turned and looked at Pete, noticing over his shoulder that Edie had walked up behind him and had obviously heard the younger man's comments. He didn't let on but had to hide a smile when the girl rolled her eyes at him.

"So you manage to live on love and eggs, is that what you're saying?"

Pop winked at Edie as she stepped into the kitchen. She in turn gave Pete a chiding glare. He remained unperturbed so she just shook her head and turned her attention to Frank.

"You look very handsome." Her eyes smiled in approval as she took in his appearance. though she felt she'd been left out of the loop somewhere. "Tell me why you're going over to Barney's tonight instead of tomorrow?"

"Pete didn't tell you?" Obviously not, as Edie directed another scolding look at the man standing next to her. Frank tossed the dish towel to the counter and leaned back against the stove. "Barney fell off a ladder yesterday before the club opened. He said he was changing a light bulb in the ladies room and missed a rung when he was coming down. Mother made him take last night and tonight off, told him if he doesn't show up good as new on Monday she'll make him go to the doctor. So he called this morning and asked if I'd like to come over tonight instead. I told him fine. It fits my schedule better anyway." Frank glanced at the leather-banded watch on his left wrist. "I should probably be leaving in a few minutes."

"What's got you so excited about going over to his place anyway?" Pete looped his arm around Edie's shoulders and pulled her against his side. "I'm not going to find your name on the police blotter in the morning am I? Have to come and bail you out of jail?"

"Very funny." Frank turned his back to the couple and mumbled something as he picked up the macaroni dish and slid it into the oven next to the pork chops.

"What was that?" Pete asked, his eyes narrowing. Frank heaved an exasperated sigh and turned back around.

"We're watching westerns on Barney's television set." He gave his son a look that practically dared him to say anything. " _Gunsmoke_. Some new show called _Bonanza_. But seeing as you don't own a television set you've probably never heard of them." His hands went into his pants pockets and he offered Pete a bland stare. " _Barney_ has a _television_ _set_ ," he stressed.

"I heard you the first time, Pop. And the second. You don't have to repeat yourself." From the corner of his eye Pete saw Edie press her lips together to keep from smiling. She reached her hand up and laced her fingers with his as he continued to speak. "I'm sorry we don't have all those fancy modern conveniences around here to keep you entertained."

"You should get yourself a TV to go with that new chair," Frank offered.

"It all comes down to that chair doesn't it? The one you wish _you_ had." This time it was Pete who tried not to smile. "Maybe Barney'll be nicer than me and let you sit in _his_ chair. And why does tonight fit your schedule better?"

"I figure this way the three of us can spend all day Sunday together." Frank's eyebrows went up inquisitively. "If that's all right with the two of you. With everything that's been going on we really haven't had a chance to spend any real family time together. And we still need to go through the rest of those things I brought with me." His eyes landed on Pete as he reminded him of that, then his gaze shifted between him and Edie and back again."And Monday evening I want to take both of you out for a nice dinner somewhere if you feel up to it and if Mother doesn't mind Edie showing up for work a little late."

"You don't have to do that, Pop."

"I know I don't. But I want to." The elder Gunn offered Edie an engaging smile and then gave his son a wink. "After dinner we can head over to _Mother's_ and I can listen to this girl sing, I can't get away without doing that. Then Tuesday morning we can run over to that diner you like for breakfast..." his gaze flicked to his son, "... and head on to the airport from there if that's okay with you. My flight is scheduled for eight-fifteen."

"You seem in an awful hurry to leave all of a sudden" Pete looked suspicious. "Getting lonesome for that Mrs. McAlister?"

Frank gave a long-suffering sigh and gave his watch another glance.

"You can throw the garlic bread in the oven in about twenty-five minutes." He checked his cuffs and pulled at his collar and gave Edie a sly wink before eyeing his son. "You know if you weren't bigger than me I'd tan your hide." He reached out and have Pete's shoulder a gentle push.

"Hey!" Pete pretended to take offense and mimicked his action, though not as gently.

Frank pushed him back with a smile. Pete smiled back.

"You're feeling better." Frank snuck a glance at Edie. "You don't need me around getting in the way."

"You're not in the way, Pop." His arm tightened unconsciously around Edie's shoulders.

"Thanks for saying that, son." Frank gave his son's cheek a soft pat and the girl's cheek a quick kiss as he stepped around them. "I need to shake a leg or I'll be late. I can't let Marshall Dillon and Miss Kitty get started without me."

"Got the car keys?" Pete called after him. He released Edie and moved to stand in the kitchen doorway as the woman began gathering silverware and plates for their supper.

Frank Gunn pulled the keys out of his pocket and held them high in the air, jingling them to the tune of some off-key whistling as he continued out the apartment door and pulled it shut behind himself. The younger man stood where he was for several minutes, staring at the door, a sudden loneliness engulfing him at the realization that his dad was going home in just a few days. His glum face caught Edie's attention when he rejoined her in the kitchen, earning a gentle inquiry as to his well-being. He stared at her blankly at first then was quickly cheered by the knowledge that Pop might be leaving but this woman, the love of his life, wasn't going anywhere.


	30. Chapter 30

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. I wish I could tempt him away from her but that will never happen.**

 _Thanks very much to Melchy for lending an ear when I needed one and for offering some great suggestions when I needed those. This chapter wouldn't have been possible but for her input. It always helps to have an understanding soul to talk to._

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 30**

Peter Gunn offered the last morsel of meat on his plate to Thomas then watched with a smile as the cat made quick work of it. His pink tongue touched his nose as he eyed the now empty plate then he meandered over to Edie Hart where she sat on the floor a few feet away. The pretty blonde shook her head at the feline as she stacked her own plate on top of the other one on the fireplace bench. She took a sip from her coffee cup and eyed Pete over the rim.

"There's dessert."

"Is there?" He didn't remember seeing anything resembling dessert and Pop certainly hadn't relayed any instructions about it. If there was one thing Frank Gunn was a stickler for it was giving instructions. Whether they were followed or not was up to the person they were aimed at. Evidently he had said something to Edie though. And if there was indeed dessert Pete wouldn't turn it down. He watched his favorite girl gracefully rise from the floor and gather the dishes.

"Mmhmm." She gave him a quick smile. "I'll run some water over these and put them in the drainer and then I'll be back." He set his coffee cup on the top plate and allowed his eyes to follow her as she disappeared into the kitchen. After half a minute of rubbing an appreciative feline's chin both man and beast heaved satisfied sighs. Thomas wandered away into a cozy corner to take care of his after-dinner ablutions while the PI found his feet and directed them to his new favorite chair and settled himself comfortably.

Pete felt sleepy and his eyes tried to drift shut and he found it difficult to keep his mind from wandering as he waited for Edie to come back. Then his eyes snapped open and he was confused for a few seconds as the chair shifted and there was the girl in question on his lap, her knees snug against his thighs and her fingers soft against his face and in his hair and against the nape of his neck. He was left wondering whether he had actually fallen asleep. He raised his brows and looked at Edie through drowsy eyes.

"I thought we were having dessert."

She gave him one of her big slow smiles then she leaned forward to give him an equally big slow kiss. Finally she angled back, his lips following hers as long as they could. Pete offered up a bemused smile.

"Oh," he said. He rested his hands on her hips. " _That_ kind of dessert."

Her fingers moved to the buttons of the soft dark blue cardigan he was wearing. After opening the top one she thought better of it and simply grabbed at the shoulders, silently telling him to lean forward so she could pull it over his head. He did and she did and the sweater was tossed to the sofa. Her fingers moved on to his shirt.

"You're being kind of forward aren't you?" His gaze followed her fingers down his front as they nimbly released the buttons. He loved to watch her undress him. Almost as much as he loved to undress _her_. He enjoyed the feeling of her hands on him as she went about her business. She was always so focused on what she was doing, becoming oblivious to everything else, taking care of the simple task with the same dogged determination she brought to everything she did.

"Am I?" The tip of her tongue was caught between her teeth in concentration.

"Well, you're assuming I'm interested."

"Aren't you?" The casual checked shirt came off with a little help from both of them and quickly followed in the wake of the sweater. She pulled the t-shirt from the waistband of his light gray woolen trousers but she didn't remove it. Her warm fingers crawled up his sides beneath it, sending a long shiver through him and giving his skin the little duck bumps that usually belonged to her.

"That's a silly question." Pete wasn't sure how he got the words out. "Silly."

"Is it?" The woman smiled at the use of his special name for her.

"Are you sure we don't have this conversation backwards?" He frowned sternly. "Those sound like my lines."

"Do they?" Her hands abandoned their gentle inspection of his chest and moved instead to the bottom of the white t-shirt she had donned after returning from her outing earlier in the day, beginning to pull it up but pausing at the sound of the man's voice.

"Shouldn't I be the one doing that?" His fingers covered hers.

"Should you?" Edie's eyebrows rose and her lips trembled with laughter. Pete quickly lifted the shirt over her head and immediately cupped the back of her neck with his hand to pull her in for a hard kiss. The t-shirt fell to the floor.

"You know what?"

"What?" she breathed.

"You're being even more exasperating than usual tonight." Pete flinched as he felt her hands begin to work on the zipper of his slacks and swallowed hard as her fingers drifted along the bulge forming beneath it. He squirmed as the zipper came down and the button above it was undone. Then he watched as she rose to her knees and pulled at her own pretty pink and white lounge pants and somehow managed to get them off while still straddling his lap. The things this woman could accomplish never ceased to amaze him. "What-" Pete cleared his throat. "What exactly are you doing?"

"You don't know?" Her hands framed his face as she looked at him.

"Well, I suppose I have a general idea..." He smiled as she leaned in and kissed him. Her lips were so soft. And moist. Her eyes an endless ocean of blue. He could stare into them forever and never grow tired.

"Pete." The word was a warm breath against his lips.

"Hmmm?" His hands spanned the small of her back, played with the elastic of her white cotton panties before briefly cupping her bottom, then drifted up to the matching bra and made quick work of the hooks they found there. Her skin was smooth as silk beneath his fingers,warm against his palms. He raked his fingernails lightly along her spine and felt her shiver in response.

"Make love to me."

He gave her an easy smile and lifted has hands and brushed her hair back, his fingers tangling in the blond tresses as he pulled her face to his and slowly kissed her. Then his lips moved to her cheek, peppering kisses there before finding the pulse in the curve of her neck and lingering.

"If you insist," the man murmured against her soft skin. "I'll do my best..." he nibbled gently at her earlobe, "...it's one of my very favorite things to do."

"I insist." Edie smiled blissfully at the warmth of his breath against her face and the low rumble of his voice in her ear. "And what do you mean _one_ of your favorite things?" A playful frown creased her forehead. "What could be more important than..." She gave another involuntary shiver as his hands feathered lightly along her shoulders and then downward to cup her breasts beneath their loosened covering. "...than this?"

His lips tilted in a smile as they continued their journey, placing a soft kiss at her temple and remaining there as he answered her in a voice filled with tender amusement.

"Nothing..." He dipped his head, covering her mouth with his, thrilling to the feel of her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her breasts pressing against his chest. What began as a gentle kiss turned heated as she leaned into him, her hands cool against the back of his neck as she held his head to hers. It was the man who eventually ended it, breathing heavily as he carefully pushed her away, his gaze taking in her flushed cheeks and her swollen lips that could say to the world they had been kissed and kissed well.

"Much as I like this chair..." Pete heaved a regretful sigh and moved to get up, taking her with him, "...what do you say we go upstairs and try out that new bed?" He smiled and took the woman's hand and led her to the stairs, stopping once to kick his pants off when they slipped past his hips and began to sag to the floor. Edie's bra followed about halfway up the stairs, the straps sliding from her shoulders as she shrugged it off, paying no heed to where it fell. He pulled his t-shirt over his head with some help from his girl's willing hands as they reached the landing, dropping it to the carpet as they entered the bedroom and kicking it to one side as he closed the door behind them. Balancing first on one foot then the other, he removed his socks and tossed them in the general direction of the bathroom and then reached out a hand to snap on the bedside lamp.

Pete backed Edie against the side of the bed, reaching around her to grab the covers to pull them aside. Then his hands moved down to cup her bottom to bring her body into his for closer contact, his thumbs slipping beneath the elastic of her panties to peel them slowly down her thighs until they fell to the floor. He turned them both around, sitting down on the bed and taking her with him, pulling her onto his lap, her legs straddling his hips as they shared a heated and lingering kiss. Finally she pushed away, leaning back a little and allowing her gaze to wander over his face and shoulders. Her fingers followed her gaze, trailing gently along his neck to his collarbone, down his chest and along his ribs to his belly button and a little further to the waistband of his blue and green striped boxers, a solemn expression coloring her face all the while. Edie looked up to find Pete staring at her and she was consumed with a sudden shyness and didn't know where it came from. It wasn't as if this was their first time together. And she certainly hadn't been shy _then_. Her gaze darted away from Pete's and landed on the pillows lying against the headboard. All semblance of shyness suddenly vanished and she was looking at her lover with a sweet smile and laughing eyes.

"Pete." His name left her lips in a tone that oozed smugness.

"Hmmm." His own lips were doing indescribable things to her shoulders and her neck and the hollow of her throat as they made their way downward to their ultimate target, open-mouthed kisses leaving a trail of moisture in their wake, his hands sliding down her sides and cupping the swell of her hips to pull her closer.

"The sheets." She tried to keep her eyes open but couldn't, the lids drifting shut at the ecstasy his mouth was creating.

"What about the sheets?" The warm breath of his sigh against her breast brought quick goosebumps to her skin and a pull of longing deep within her.

"They're _pink_." She could do little more than gasp the words, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she held onto him.

"No they're not." Pete fell backwards and rolled over, taking her with him until her head found the pillow. He quickly removed his boxers and tossed them to the side and pulled her to his chest, one arm going beneath her, the other snaking around her waist, his lips homing in on hers with an almost childlike delight, laughing into her mouth as he felt her smile. She pulled away.

"Pete, they're pink. The sheets are pink."

"They are _not_ pink. They're coral."

He kissed her again, removing his arms from around her and nudging her onto her back, his hands framing her face and his fingers weaving into her hair and his lips continuing their gentle assault until she was moaning beneath him. The PI had found over time that kissing her silent usually worked. This definitely _wasn't_ one of those times. She wouldn't give up, gasping a quick breath and plodding forward as he broke the kiss and lifted his head.

"Pink," she insisted. "They're _pink_."

"Coral," the man repeated firmly, shifting to the side and reaching out a hand to open the nightstand drawer, groping around until he felt what he was looking for.

"I thought you told the man white," Edie said, watching him, her heartbeat quickening.

"I changed my mind. You do it all the time." He finished what he was doing and leaned on one elbow, offering up an indulgent smile as he allowed his other hand to outline her feminine curves.

"Why?" The word came on a groan as his mouth found her breast, a wonderful tingling sensation shooting through her body, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers running through his short black hair then clutching at it as he moved to the other breast.

"I thought you'd like these better," the man sighed, his warm breath buffeting her skin. His lips moved to the valley between her breasts and he lifted his gaze to peek up at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes half-closed. She was so pretty he could hardly stand it. "I didn't want you to think you couldn't have any color you wanted so I called to see what else they had."

"But I didn't -"

"Honey, forget the sheets."

Pete's mouth quickly covered hers again in a deep kiss. If at first you don't succeed, he figured, and this time it appeared to work. His fingers trailed gently over her soft skin, teasing and rediscovering, searching and memorizing. Sliding and dipping into areas familiar yet mysterious. He felt like a man who had walked too many miles and needed to slake his thirst, wanting to do it quickly but knowing it had to be a slow journey. He worked his way back up her body, mouth and tongue and fingers working their magic until he once again found her lips with his, felt her wrap herself around him as he settled over her, a groan of deep satisfaction escaping him as without hesitation he slid into her. He'd found his home again, that's all he could think as he began to move within her, before all his sensibilities left him and he concentrated on nothing besides making love to this woman.

* * *

Frank Gunn stood in front of the cage that hung from something resembling a shepherd's crook in one corner of Barney's living room. Inside the cage, almost hidden away in the jumble of mirrors, bells, feeding trays, cuttlebones and other assorted entertainment and food items, was a small green and yellow parakeet. He – Frank assumed it was a he – was nervously tapping his curved bill on the wire of his swing, making noises and giving his observer frequent odd looks. The man frowned as he stared at the bird, cocking his head as he listened.

"Is he _talking_?" Frank threw a quick glance at Barney. The bartender grinned back at his visitor from his position in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the popcorn popping in a wok on top of the stove. He shoved the blue Big Buster Popcorn tin back into the cabinet then pried the caps off two big bottles of Coca-Cola. "What's he saying?" Frank frowned as he tried to interpret the bird's mutterings.

Barney wandered over and handed his guest a bottle glistening with condensation.

"Get the gun, get the gun." He laughed at the expression on Frank's face and watched as the other man narrowed his eyes and listened closely and realized that was exactly what the parakeet was saying. His eyebrows went up as the little bird continued his one-sided conversation by repeating "you're a doll, you're a doll" and bobbing his head, skittering back and forth on his perch as he did so.

"What's his name?" Frank took a long draw from the bottle in his hand and then almost choked on the cold liquid when the bartender answered.

"Al Capone." Barney gave a sheepish shrug at the other man's questioning look. "Don't ask me. Fella came into Mother's a couple years ago looking for Pete. Had a humdinger of a story about the bird being a witness to a crime and how the mob was after him. Not the man, the bird. Can you believe that?" He opened the little door of the cage to allow the bird the freedom to come out if he wanted to. Then he returned to the stove as the sound of popping corn slowed down and moved the wok to the counter top, shaking his head all the while. "Pete being Pete he helped the fella out. I don't think anybody ever heard the end of it but he never came back for the bird so I brought him home. I guess if Pete had any idea he'd come for him he would have said so but he just told me to go ahead and take him." Barney pulled two big bowls from an upper cabinet. "So I did."

Frank accepted one of the bowls and scooped it half full of popcorn. He frowned down into it and then set it back on the counter, stuck his hands in his pants pockets and gave Barney a direct look.

"Speaking of Pete..." One hand came out of his pocket and he ran his fingers through his graying hair, reached for his Coke and unconsciously picked at the lettering on the bottle as he spoke. "I want to thank you for everything you've done for him over the past few weeks. I really appreciate it and I know Pete does too."

"I haven't done anything," Barney demurred, leading the way to the cozy living room and turning the television on as he passed by.

"Sure you have. You and Mother..." Frank smiled and sat down, "...Emmett. You were all there for him when he was in the hospital and then when we got him home. You've been there for Edie..." He got his drink and snack situated on the end table. "Going with her to pick out that chair was very kind of you."

A world-weary smile crossed Barney's face.

"If I hadn't been able to go with her one of the other guys would have." The theme from _Bonanza_ began to play softly as the television set finally warmed up, the black and white picture slowly appearing shortly thereafter. "Everybody likes Edie, any one of the guys would've been glad to help. They'd all do anything for either one of them."

Frank nodded, glad of that, then let his mind and eyes wander as the western began to play. He decided he liked Barney's apartment very much. It was a good size, situated on the second floor over Markbright's Deli, with another apartment directly above. It was light and airy, with a nice bedroom and bathroom, a colorful kitchen and a living room that showed off the bartender's vast collection of beer bottles and bottle openers. That collection had grown and changed since his last visit more than two years ago.

"How's Pete doing?" Barney crunched a few puffs of popcorn and gave his full attention to Frank as a Chevrolet commercial appeared on the screen.

"Really well. Except for the headaches he's doing fine." The man smiled. "The doctor is impressed with his progress."

"Pete's a fast healer," the bartender nodded sagely.

"Mmm..." Frank agreed, idly watching the action brewing with the Cartwrights. He had missed the first episode of the series but from what he could see of tonight's show he'd be enjoying it for years to come. He wondered at the markings on the pretty paint horse the younger boy was riding and whether they were shades of brown or black. "You think color television will ever catch on?" he mused, taking a deep draw of his soda.

Barney's eyebrows shot up and his face took on a bemused expression.

"Not if the cost of a set doesn't go down," he snorted, running a hand over his thinning hair. "If I bought one of those things I'd never be able to retire. The payments would eat me up for the rest of my life." An impish smile moved his lips. "You should tell Pete he needs one. Then we could both go over to _his_ place and watch."

It was Frank's turn to snort.

"Pete has no interest in television. He considers it a waste of time." He afforded Barney a pointed glance. "He never actually said that but I could tell it's what he was thinking."

Barney gave a good-natured shrug.

"He has better things to do with his time I guess." He nodded with that age old wisdom of a man who served drinks for a living. "Between his job and Edie he doesn't need TV."

"Mmm... I suppose."

Frank's attention shifted from Barney and _Bonanza_ to the birdcage in the corner. Al Capone was busy lumbering through the open door, keeping himself steady by grabbing at the wires with his beak as he made his way up to the slanted roof. From there he took off with a quick flap of his wings, circling the room near the ceiling several times before landing gracefully atop Barney's head. Cocking his head this way and that, his dark eyes unblinking, he emitted some gravelly sounds and a few whistles made their way past his thick tongue. Then he bobbed up and down, bringing laughter from both men.

"Get the gun, get the gun..." The bird repeated his earlier words. "Kiss the dame..."

After a few minutes of the bird's hijinks Barney enticed him onto his finger and settled him back in his cage, closing the door on him after refilling his food dish. He paused in front of the TV and turned inquisitive eyes toward his visitor.

"What'll it be? _Wanted: Dead or Alive_ or _Leave_ _it to Beaver_?" He laughed and turned the knob as Frank rolled his eyes. "Steve McQueen it is."

The two men watched westerns until late in the evening, taking a break at one point for Barney to answer some questions about his collection of beer bottles. Frank swore it had at least doubled in size since the last time he'd seen it and he wondered how Barney had acquired some of the more exotic brands. Barney shrugged and smiled and mentioned a few of the regular customers who brought them in for him. Several fellows did extensive traveling with their jobs and brought him back a souvenir on occasion. Frank learned not even his own son was immune to furnishing the bartender with a random addition to his collection, Barney plucking an Estrella Damm bottle from the second shelf and handing it to him.

"Pete brought this one back from Spain last year," he said. Frank wasn't aware his son had been to Spain. "He picked these up in Texas." Barney indicated bottles of Lone Star, Pearl and Shiner that were grouped with other American beers on the bottom row. "And this one in Mexico." Frank knew Pete had been to Mexico several months back but he hadn't heard about Texas and he made a mental note to ask his son about those trips. He picked up a few bottle openers, asking where they came from and how Barney acquired them. One colorful opener was molded from cast iron and featured a cowboy playing a guitar. Another was plain in shape with no adornment and had the name of a soft drink company imprinted on both sides. There was a lobster painted a garish red color and a nude woman formed from brass. Frank didn't do the math of how many there were but Barney admitted to having almost a hundred of the little gizmos along with around a hundred and thirty beer bottles. When Frank left at close to midnight he figured he'd have visions of bottles and openers dancing in his dreams for weeks to come.

* * *

Frank Gunn pushed the apartment door shut and gave a weary sigh, glad to return to his home away from home despite the good time he'd had visiting with Barney. It had been nice to have a quiet, boring evening for once after the drama of the past few weeks. He was too old for that kind of life anymore. In his younger days? Sure. His work had kept him on his toes then just like Pete's did him now. And he'd had a wife and soon a child to think of back then. Not that he figured it was any different for his son. After all, he had a girl who was already counting the number of kids they'd have. Frank wondered just how long he'd have to wait to hold that first grandchild. The thought brought a smile to his face. Knowing the deliberate manner in which Pete stepped through life he figured it would be a while yet, but not too long. Because now he had someone taking those steps alongside him. And that made all the difference in the world.

Frank walked into the kitchen and put the leftover pepperoni pizza Barney had made him take with him into the refrigerator. He slowly made his way back to the living room, smiling that the kids had thought to leave the light on for him. The apartment was quiet, the only sounds the snoring of the cat curled up on the sofa and the small crackles of a few embers still burning in the fireplace.

Feeling the long day catching up with him, Frank made a quick trip to the bathroom to change into his pajamas and brush his teeth, then moved the coffee table aside so he could unfold the sofa. Loath to move Thomas from his comfortable spot he nevertheless picked him up and moved him to a chair, reaching for whatever it was the cat was lying on to set it aside too. He realized the bundle of material was the shirt and sweater Pete had been wearing earlier in the day. _Hmm, that fire must have really been burning_ , he thought absently, stepping around the recliner with the intention of hanging both items in the closet. Feeling a soft lump against his bare foot he looked down to find a swath of material on the floor. Pink and white and plaid. _Oh_ , _really?_ Frank retrieved the lounge pants. The white t-shirt the woman had been wearing lay on the other side of the chair. _Apparently I wasn't the only one having a good time tonight,_ he decided. Risking a brief glance toward the top of the stairs he cocked his head and listened. There was no sound, the door was shut and no light was visible beneath it. His eyes narrowed. He moved forward and picked up the pair of gray pants near the foot of the stairs. How had he not noticed those when he came in? And was that a bra hanging on the rail about half way up the stairs? It was. A lacy looking thing. And another t-shirt on the top landing. Frank stealthily crept along the stairs to retrieve both, hoping that was all he would find and thanking God when it was.

Frank absentmindedly rolled the clothing together and glanced down at the bundle. _Now what?_ he wondered. What to do with it. He could leave it outside the bedroom door, in a spot where it couldn't be missed, maybe put a note on it, _Did you lose these?_ A chuckle escaped him before he could help himself. He quickly swallowed it and quietly made his way back downstairs. He should hide their clothes somewhere. After all, the kids should be behaving themselves while he was there. Never mind that he had been elsewhere this evening. Pete was still an invalid. Technically. He could hurt himself. And here they were resorting to hanky-panky the minute his back was turned. Frank snorted and almost laughed out loud and found his way to the laundry room where he tossed everything in the wash basket. No use embarrassing them. Back in the living room Frank returned to his task of unfolding the sofa. He had to remove Thomas from the same spot again but was finally able to crawl beneath the covers and close his eyes. He heaved a satisfied sigh and smiled into the darkness. How had he ever allowed almost two and a half years to go by without visiting Pete? How could he have imagined that letters and telephone calls could take the place of actually seeing his son? He promised himself right then and there it would never happen again. With the smile still on his lips he drifted into sleep.


	31. Chapter 31

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. I wish I could tempt him away from her but that will never happen.**

 _We'll be getting back to some casework following this chapter. But a little fluff never hurts.  
_

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 31**

Edie Hart glanced up with a warm smile for Frank Gunn as he stepped into the kitchen. He pulled at his necktie and opened the top button of his shirt, his actions so familiar to her, so much like Pete, it caused the woman's smile to widen. As he began to unbutton and roll up his shirtsleeves she had to look away to hide her amusement. The elder Gunn moved to stand next to her for a moment and gave a look over her shoulder at the recipe book that lay open on the small kitchen table.

"What's up?" He noticed it was one of those old church cookbooks, the kind that would contain every conceivable recipe under the sun. "Today's brunch day, right?"

"Mmm." Edie turned a page browned with age, not knowing precisely what she was looking for but wanting something special to go with the eggs and bacon waiting in the refrigerator. Something bready but better than toast. And most importantly something she and her limited cooking skills wouldn't make a mess of. "How was mass?"

"It was good. I knew that little church up the street from Pete's old place had a seven o'clock service so I drove over there." He had left a note taped to the coffee pot stating his whereabouts, figuring one or the other of them would eventually discover it if he didn't make it back by the time they made their way downstairs this morning. He pulled out a chair and sat down across from Edie. "They've made a few changes and there's a new priest on the job but the service was still very nice." Frank reached for a second book lying open next to the girl's elbow. It was old and yellowed, of medium-size with tarnished metal rings, its lined pages filled with glued-on recipes cut from newspapers and magazines. He gave the living room a glance then looked at Edie. "Pete not up yet?"

She shook her head, telling him that Pete was having trouble sleeping and when he did sleep he was very restless. Last night had been the first since he'd been home that he had slept through without any problem and she hadn't wanted to wake him. Fetching a mug from the cabinet she poured coffee for Frank and refilled her own cup then went back to her recipe search.

"What are we looking for anyway?" Frank smiled at Edie over the rim of his mug. He decided she looked very pretty in her lacy white blouse and dark gold slacks and her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"I'm not sure. Breakfast rolls, coffee cake, muffins. Something easy." She smiled back.

Several minutes were spent in companionable silence disturbed only by the occasional flip of a page or shared murmur of discovery. After thumbing through the last few pages of the homemade recipe book he was perusing Frank turned his attention to the inside front cover and the name written there.

"Alice Kelly?"

"My grandmother. Mama's mama." Edie's lips curved in a smile. "She has a collection you wouldn't believe. Every once in a blue moon she goes through them and hands a few out to her daughters and granddaughters. She says that by the time she dies they'll all be in the hands of those who'll use them best."

"And these are the ones she gave to you."

"No. These are some she gave to Mama." Edie smoothed her fingers over a dog-eared page and flashed Frank an amused glance. "Mama sent them to me after her and Papa's last visit along with a note informing me that I need to learn to cook if I expect to find myself a husband."

Frank wasn't certain how to respond to that. He scratched his head. Edie chuckled.

"According to Mama a man wants a woman who can put dinner on the table when he comes home after a long day on the job," she continued. "She wasn't impressed that the first evening they were here Pete took us all out to dinner and the next night he cooked supper for us." She paused for a long moment as she contemplated the next recipe and then grimaced and spoke without raising her eyes from the book. "She also wasn't impressed that he was in my kitchen in his boxers making breakfast the morning they showed up unannounced at my door."

Edie watched as Frank leaned his elbow on the table and rubbed his hand up and down his face and then covered his mouth with it to hide what looked like a smirk.

"That's the exact same expression Pete had on _his_ face," she confessed with a wry smile. "Mama was embarrassed. From the look on her face you would think she'd never seen a man's bare chest before. And Pete's boxers certainly covered more than his swim trunks would have. Of course she wouldn't have known that since Pete hid behind the counter until she turned her back for a minute and he was able to sneak down the hallway to the bedroom. Papa-" She afforded Frank a shamefaced glance. "I'm not sure what was going through Papa's head and to be quite honest I really didn't care. That was terrible of me wasn't it?"

Frank apparently couldn't trust himself to an answer beyond a shrug. He seemed to be having a difficult time trying to keep a straight face.

"I tried to explain to Mama later that Pete doesn't care if I'm the worst cook in the world and that he enjoys cooking because he finds it relaxing. She's of the opinion that any man who thinks like that has an ulterior motive when it comes to women." Edie felt a sudden warm flush of embarrassment rise in her cheeks at the manner in which she was prattling on and on. Neither she nor Pete made a habit of discussing their personal life with anyone else but it felt natural talking to Frank. "I'm sorry. I have a feeling that's a little more than you really wanted to know isn't it?"

Frank abruptly pushed himself to his feet and began removing measuring spoons from drawers and mixing bowls from cabinets. Edie could see the man's shoulders shaking as he kept his back to her. He brought out the flour canister and picked a few herbs from the rack and gathered several other baking utensils together on the counter. Finally the woman heard him release a sigh and emit a little chuckle and give a small shake of his head.

"I know for a fact that Pete has a soft spot in his heart-" he gave a sideways glance over his shoulder at Edie, mirth still evident in his eyes "- _and_ his stomach - for the breakfast biscuits his Grandma Ross used to make. I'm going to teach you how to make them. You do it right..." he gave her a wink and motioned with his head for her to join him, "...and I know you will, you'll earn his undying devotion. Not that you don't have it already," he quickly amended, finally allowing a gust of laughter to escape. He moved aside to allow Edie room to stand next to him and together they procured the remaining items Frank deemed necessary.

"Flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, sugar, buttermilk, butter. That's everything we need." Frank set the oven to 375° then pushed a big yellow Pyrex mixing bowl in Edie's direction. "You do the honors," he instructed. "You'll need four cups of flour. Spoon it into the measuring cup and level it with a knife. You want to be precise." He watched as the young woman followed his directions. "Your Mama doesn't like Pete. Why not?"

Edie remained silent as she spooned and leveled the flour. She wasn't used to discussing the vagaries of her mother's notions when it came to her and Pete. She wasn't sure where to begin. Or if she even should. Wasn't that one of those things that was between her and Pete? But Pete seemed to take Mary Grace Hart's attitude toward him in stride, as he did most things in life, enjoining her not to worry about her mother and her odd ideas. Mrs. Hart's aversion to their relationship was something the woman would have to work out in her own time and at her own pace. If she eventually accepted him it was fine, if not that was okay, too. Those were Pete's words. But she knew it bothered him that Mama Hart was working hard not to accept him as a permanent fixture in her daughter's life. Edie's lengthy silence had Frank Gunn wondering if he might have overstepped. Maybe he was being too nosy.

"I'm sorry, Edie, I shouldn't have asked that. It's really none of my business."

It was the gentleness in his voice that was her undoing.

"He doesn't conform to her expectations of..." Edie's voice trailed off and she offered an uncertain shrug as she added the final cup of flour to the bowl. "He doesn't conform to her expectations," she repeated and left it at that.

"Add four teaspoons of baking powder. Level it off the same way you did the flour."

"When she found out Pete and I were – " Edie spooned the baking powder on top of the flour and wondered how one went about discussing sex with one's someday in the future father-in-law. "When she found out Pete and I were _together_ – " That was as good a way as any she guessed. Frank wasn't a stupid man. He would know what she was referring to. "–she made up her mind he was some sort of Don Juan. She came to the conclusion he was after one thing and one thing only and he was taking advantage of me to get it." She snorted a chuckle. "And that once he got enough of it he'd be out the door."

Frank made a scoffing sound which he quickly covered with a fake cough.

"I've assured her that's not the case. That Pete's not– That Pete is an honorable man. We have a life together and we make our decisions together. She doesn't listen. She thinks I need to come home, find some nice man to marry that she totally approves of and live a _respectable_ life with two kids, one dog, a station wagon and a thirty year mortgage." A long-suffering yet tender smile curved the girl's lips as her eyes met Frank's. "I love my parents very much and I would do anything in the world for them. Except that."

Edie added a teaspoon of baking soda, one and a half teaspoons of salt and one teaspoon of sugar to the bowl. Using a wire whisk she mixed the dry ingredients together and then followed Frank's directions for cutting the butter into the dry mixture.

"I take it you didn't say anything to them about what's been going on with you and Pete."

The woman shot him a look that told him he was as much an idiot as his son.

Frank chuckled than watched as the blonde frowned at the two knives he had suggested she use to cut the butter. With a roll of her eyes she pulled open the corner drawer by the refrigerator and pulled out a red-handled pastry cutter and held it up for him to see. She dropped the knives into the sink with a clatter.

"My parents have met Pete twice. The first time they met Mama seemed to like him. The second time-" The blonde shrugged and offered an apologetic smile. "She complained none too subtly that Pete spent too much money, that he wore a new suit every day, that his car was too fancy and that his apartment was far too nice for a single man. Whatever that means. Heaven knows what she'd say about this one. I was also told he was far too familiar with _my_ apartment and he sat much too close to me on the sofa." She uncapped the _Borden's_ bottle. "How much buttermilk?"

"Two cups. Just mix it in until everything's blended. But before you do that add about a teaspoon each of basil and dill." Frank rescued the aluminum measuring spoon from the sink and motioned toward the small tins containing the herbs. "Not heaping spoons but they don't have to be leveled off either." He maintained a watchful eye as she carefully added the two herbs to the mix.

"Pete likes basil," Edie said with a quick smile.

"Now sprinkle in exactly one-half teaspoon of rosemary. That's the extra ingredient that makes these biscuits special."

Frank refilled his coffee mug and took a sip as he leaned against the counter, watching the girl's face as she concentrated on her task. Once he considered the batter mixed to his liking he gave directions on flattening the dough and cutting the biscuits, then pulled a baking tin from the bottom cabinet as Edie finished up.

"I hope that one day my mother will accept that my place is with Pete," the blonde said. She reached for the butter dish in the cabinet next to the sink, removed the wrapper from the quarter stick she found beneath the lid and began brushing a thin coating on the pan. "That she'll learn to-" Edie sighed. "That she'll accept him if for no other reason than I love him. _She_ doesn't have to love him. She doesn't even have to like him. But she can at least respect him. There's no one better than Pete. He's the finest man I know."

"How about your father?"

"He and Pete seem to have some sort of understanding." She frowned thoughtfully as she aligned twelve biscuits neatly on the pan. "What that is and how they came about it is a mystery to me-" her blue eyes flashed with a look of amusement, "-and I have no desire to solve that mystery any time soon."

A gentle bump against her leg and the sound of a muted purr had Edie glancing down as she let the oven door fall shut. Thomas had appeared out of nowhere to caress her ankle with his furry orange forehead and give her an appealing stare. The woman laughed and lifted him to her chest as she set the timer.

"It's nice to see at least one sleepyhead decided to crawl out of bed." She spoke to the cat's face and rubbed her cheek against his softness then set him down as she heard the sound of running water from the upstairs shower. "Make that two."

Edie washed and dried her hands before grabbing eggs and bacon from the refrigerator and setting them on the counter.

"What about _you_?" Frank placed his mug in the dish drainer and slipped his hands into the pockets of his gray flannel pants.

"What _about_ me?" Edie gave him a confused glance.

"Does Pete conform to _your_ expectations?" He gazed at her with kind blue eyes as he continued to lean against the counter.

"He makes me happy," was her simple answer.

* * *

Frank Gunn chuckled, not for the first time, as he settled himself on the chair in his son's bedroom and watched patiently as Pete shifted a shoe box, several smaller boxes and a bag from the dresser to the bed. The expression that had crossed Pete's face that morning upon learning that Edie made the biscuits had been comical. Frank wished he'd had his new camera handy just on the off chance he might have captured that look. It had been priceless.

"I can't believe you ate four of those big biscuits along with a plate full of scrambled eggs and bacon." Frank's shoulders quaked as the chuckle became a full blown laugh. "And that sausage left over from yesterday morning. I don't know where you put it all."

"And I can't believe you showed Edie how to _make_ those biscuits," the younger man groused as he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled at the tape holding down the lid of the shoe box. "Do you realize how long I've been trying to figure out that recipe?" He sounded just like a little boy who had been denied his favorite toy and Frank told him so.

"You know as well as I do that the recipe is handed down to the _daughters_ in the Ross family. That means Edie gets it and you don't. So live with it." The look he gave Pete was brimming with chastising amusement.

"Grandma Ross gave it to _you_." Pete sifted through the top dozen or so photographs that topped the pile in the tattered box that had once held a pair of Nunn-Bush oxfords. Pop hadn't been kidding when he said the box was packed to the brim. The pictures he held in his hand included some of himself in his Army uniform, a candid shot of he and two cousins he hadn't seen in years and a crinkled brown three by five print of a large doe-eyed dog curled beneath a porch swing.

"And you know why that was." He didn't remind his son that he'd been given the recipe by his mother-in-law after Pete's mother died, that she'd passed it on to him because she knew that one day her grandson would find a nice girl to marry and she herself might not be around to pass it on to his wife. She had been right about that. "Just be thankful you now have the opportunity to eat the darn things for breakfast any time you want to for the rest of your life." Pop's twinkling blue gaze sized up his son. "If you ask her nicely," he amended.

Pete sighed and his eyebrows tilted upward.

"You did write it down for her." It was more statement than question. "Right?" Much as he loved the woman he knew from firsthand experience that she could make a shambles of even the simplest recipe. And if it was written down maybe he could get his hands on it if for no other reason than to satisfy his own curiosity. "You know Edie's not..."

Frank raised his hand and tapped a finger to his forehead, a knowing smile tilting his lips. "She has it all up there. No need to worry."

Pete gave his dad an impassive look before shaking his head and releasing a chuckle.

"Fine. I give up." A smile lingered as the PI opened the first of the smaller boxes. There was the Buck Rogers ray gun that his Gramps had given him, just as Pop had told him, the gleaming red of the painted metal chipped in some places and worn in others. Pete managed to pull the trigger of the toy gun back and was rewarded with a loud popping noise that brought a reminiscent grin to his face.

"That sound drove your mother crazy."

"I know." Pete's grin became bigger, more gleeful than it probably should have been. He lay the toy aside, placing it gently on the quilt Edie had thrown on the bed when the two of them had straightened the bedroom that morning after breakfast. She had brought it with her from her apartment the other afternoon when she brought Thomas back with her, one of the pretty hand sewn quilts her Grandma Hart had passed along to her every other year or so that she'd gone home to visit. He had admired it as he helped her align the edges, the ginger-haired cat scurrying after their hands and pouncing on their fingers when appropriate. He'd wondered aloud at the pattern. He didn't know much about such things. A Double Wedding Ring was her answer. Somehow he had managed to hold his tongue and keep a straight face but he could see the knowing twinkle in her eyes.

Pete pulled a small cloth bag from the box and undid the tie to find the set of tin soldiers. His coin collection lay underneath, mostly pennies and dimes, some buffalo nickels and a few quarters, some wrapped in envelopes, others stuffed into Red Top match boxes. He held a box to his nose and inhaled, the odor of sulfur still evident after so many years. In the second small box the PI found three Hardy Boys mystery books – _Footprints Under the Window, The House on the Cliff_ and _The Secret of the Caves –_ along with a tattered copy of _The Three Musketeers_. The final item turned out to be the service edition of the New Testament he'd received when he was in the Army. He opened the front cover of the pocket-size item and quietly contemplated the almost juvenile scrawl of his name on the first page before finally setting it aside with the other items.

"Thanks, Pop." His lips tipped in a little smile as he met his dad's eyes. Then he watched as the older man stood up and moved to sit next to him on the bed, drawing the cloth bag to rest between them as he did.

"Maybe those ten kids of yours will enjoy the books as much as you did."

Pete's eyes widened and he shot the other man a comical look.

"Six, Pop. Just six," he choked out. Even that number sounded absurd. "Whatever you do don't let Edie hear you say something like that. You'll fill her head with more ideas."

"Was she serious?"

"She's always serious."

"She's also a girly girl."

Pete wondered where that came from, where his dad might be going with that comment.

"She's a girl all right," he said with a smile.

"I mentioned that to Barney last night," Frank continued. "He agreed with me, said she's the girliest girl he's ever known."

"She has her moments."

Pete's expression held curiosity but he didn't push his dad. He saw the hesitation in the older man's posture but knew he would get where he was going eventually. And he did. Frank reached into the bag and withdrew a handful of items.

"There are a few things I want you to have," he said, looking at his son. "You and Edie."

Frank placed an off-white oblong jeweler's box in his son's hand. Pete didn't have to open the box to know what was inside. But he did anyway and felt the quick tears the sight brought to his eyes.

"Pop..."


	32. Chapter 32

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. I wish I could tempt him away from her but that will never happen.**

 _Thanks bunches to Melchy for helping out with some questions I knew she'd have the answers to. Special thanks to Pete and Edie for being such wonderful characters to write for._

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 32**

Thomas jumped up on the bed and claimed a spot on the quilt next to Edie. He turned around in place exactly three times before plopping himself down, the warmth of his body quickly permeating the covers and the muted rumble of his purr filling the room. The blonde reached a hand to gently ruffle the feline's soft orange fur and gave a smile at the feel of the little cat's rough tongue on her hand and the nip from razor-sharp teeth that followed. He was in a playful mood, grabbing at her fingers and then rolling over to let her rub at his stomach before falling into that sudden sleep that tends to grip cats so unexpectedly. He lay there on his back with his legs outstretched, his chin tilted in her direction, his dark eyes closed to mere slits. Edie smiled fondly, wondering not for the first time how she had ever managed to spend eleven years on her own without the companionship of a pet before Pete had shown up with the scraggly kitten that had been part of Loretta Gymps' menagerie. That had been almost a year ago now.

Maybe she just hadn't needed that type of companionship before. Before Peter Gunn. In the years previous to meeting him she'd been on her own, had been involved in a couple short-lived relationships that went nowhere. Relationships that had resembled nothing beyond naive schoolgirl crushes when she took the time to compare them with what she had with Pete. She hadn't known what it was like to love a man so completely that being apart from him for just one day could cause loneliness enough that it took the next week to make up for the loss. And three days or a week away from him were like a slow death. Thomas had helped her make it through days and weeks like that. Many recent weeks in particular.

"Pete?" Her thoughts and her fingers returned to the jeweler's box on her lap.

"Hmm?" The man in question poked his head out of the bathroom, brushing his teeth as he looked at her where she sat against the headboard. She was wearing something blue and cottony and his eyes admired the way she looked framed against the coral pink of the pillow behind her back. Sometime during the previous night they had arrived at a happy medium where the color of the bed linens was concerned. He paused in his action and waited for her to continue.

"Are you sure your dad really wants me to have these?" Edie ran gentle fingers over the double strand pearl necklace lying against the blue velvet interior of the box. The clasp was of small diamonds and blue sapphires. A bracelet and pair of matching earrings lay in a separate box on the nightstand.

"He really wants you to have them," Pete assured her, speaking around the toothbrush.

"They're so personal," she murmured. "So sentimental. I don't want him to regret giving them away."

Pete went back into the bathroom and rinsed with water and a swig of Lavoris and then rejoined Edie in the bedroom. He lifted the cat from his warm spot atop the covers and deposited him on the chair. Then he sat down on the side of the bed.

"He didn't give them away," he said. "He gave them to _you_."

"He tried to hide it but I could tell it was difficult for him. He must have felt like he was giving away a part of your mother." Her eyes were overly bright and he sensed a quiver in her voice.

Pete gently removed the jeweler's box from her hands and replaced the lid.

"This box has been kept in the same corner of the same drawer of the same bureau in his bedroom for the past sixteen years. Did he mention that?" He offered up a crooked smile when Edie shook her head. "He gave them to her on her birthday one year. I must have been nine, maybe ten I guess. He showed them to me and asked me what I thought and I remember just shrugging and telling him I guessed they were okay." Pete gave a weak grin. "I was a kid. What did I know about jewelry and what women liked?"

"You've come a long way," the blonde observed with a watery smile.

"Pop said they needed wearing and until now there was no one to do that." He offered up his own smile and gathered the other box and slipped both into the nightstand drawer. He shrugged off his t-shirt and took it into the bathroom to throw into the hamper then pulled back the covers and slid into bed next to Edie, sitting beside her and leaning so that their shoulders rubbed. "He told me they must have been waiting for you to come along."

It was still early and she had a book out and he wanted to give one last look through the police file before he handed it back to Jacoby the next day. But he allowed his eyes to roam her profile, his gaze eventually settling on the little pulse beating softly at the base of her throat. She turned her head slightly and gave him a sideways look and what for her passed as a shy smile.

"That was nice of him to say, Pete." Her eyes searched his face. "Your dad barely knows me. What if I disappoint him? What if he ends up wishing he never gave them to me?"

"He knows you." That was all he had to say. Those words and the intensity of the truth in his eyes spoke volumes.

His eyes drifted to the blue thing she was wearing and he recognized it for what it was, her comfortable old "Not tonight, honey, it's that time of the month" pajamas. His gaze lingered a moment and his lips took on a humorous slant. Nothing to worry about there, the PI thought, wouldn't be happening anyway. Not with Pop within shouting distance downstairs. He decided Edie did look a little peaked. Pushing the covers back he got out of bed.

"Where are you going?"

"Be back in a few minutes."

* * *

Downstairs Pete found his dad in the kitchen nursing a cup of instant coffee and reading the evening newspaper. Finding the kettle still half full he turned on the burner, grabbed a mug from the cabinet and dug in a canister for a tea bag. As he dropped a couple sugar cubes into the mug he caught sight of his boxers and briefly wondered if he should have pulled on a robe or pajama pants before coming downstairs. The bright red and white vertical stripes weren't something he would have picked for himself but Edie had gotten a kick out of giving them to him. She called them 'crazy' and he guessed they were. Pop evidently thought so too as he caught him staring when he turned around.

"I recall the days when if they weren't white you wouldn't wear them," Frank observed. He smiled when his son just shrugged then watched as Pete retrieved the whistling kettle and poured boiling water into the mug. "And since when are you a tea drinker?"

"It's not for me." He found a jar of honey in the cabinet and added a spoonful for good measure. Not having a lemon handy he added about a tablespoon of juice from a bottle in the refrigerator.

"Seems awfully sweet."

"She won't notice." Pete's lips slanted into a half smile as he pulled a bottle of Jameson's Irish Whiskey from the top shelf of the cabinet and tilted it in his dad's direction before pouring a good finger of the liquor into the mug to complete the concoction. He touched the side of the mug and decided it was still a little too hot to drink. "She'll be out like a light."

"Edie did seem a little quiet this afternoon," Frank mused, taking a long draught of his own lukewarm coffee. "Barney mentioned the flu has been going around. Is she coming down with something?"

"Nothing she hasn't had before," the younger man blandly replied.

"Oh. Hmm..." Frank seemed momentarily confused before the meaning of Pete's words finally dawned. "Oh. _That_." He set his cup down and folded the newspaper and ran the fingers of one hand through his graying hair. Pete could swear he saw his dad blush. He chuckled and opened his mouth to say something but was forestalled.

"I have a confession to make," Frank told him. And yes, he did seem a bit embarrassed. He ran his fingers through his hair a second time then pulled at his earlobe. "The other day when you were still in the hospital, I think it was Tuesday..." He leaned back and folded his arms across the front of the robe he had borrowed from Pete's closet. "I came back here to take a shower and get a few hours sleep and I inadvertently..." He cleared his throat. "I ran across some of her things in the upstairs bathroom and I guess I got a little curious."

"Curious." Pete tried to hide a smile. Curiosity seemed to be the family failing.

"I wasn't being nosy."

"I know, Pop." Pete turned to touch his hand to the mug again as the smile spread. Still too hot. He turned back to his dad, his face composed.

"I was looking for something I needed," Frank excused himself. "I left home in such a hurry I'm surprised I remembered to pack at all. I opened a cabinet and pulled out a box and happened to look at it..." He cleared his throat and described his experience with the box of tampons. "Things certainly have changed over the last fifteen years or so haven't they?" His face was somber but his eyes smiled as Pete couldn't help but laugh.

"Have they?" The younger man gave an amused grimace. "I have to admit I never gave any of that much thought before I met Edie. As it is I just try to keep my distance from most of those things and pretend I don't see them."

Frank chuckled and said he didn't blame him. He also hoped the girl hadn't noticed that anything was amiss, telling his son he'd considered apologizing to her at the time but had a hard time figuring out what he might say. And unlike Pete she might have thought he was being nosy and he didn't want her to get that impression.

"Don't worry about it, Pop."

"If you say so."

"Why did you come back?" The PI's expression became suddenly serious.

His dad looked confused.

"You came back to the hospital." Pete leaned against the counter and folded his arms against his bare chest and gave the older man an intent look. "You were barely gone and then you were there again. Edie was with you and I could tell she'd been crying but you told me to let her be." Uncertainty clouded his eyes for a moment. "I didn't dream that."

"You didn't dream it." Frank rubbed the back of his neck as he considered what to say. He'd known Pete would eventually bring up the subject and had gone through different scenarios in his mind regarding how he might be able to answer his son's questions. Of course he hadn't figured it would happen at ten o'clock at night in the kitchen with him in his borrowed robe and Pete in his festive boxers. It was almost laughable. Except it wasn't. "I told Edie to call if she needed me." He shrugged. "She called," he continued, as if those two words explained everything.

Pete tried hard to concentrate on the previous Tuesday. It was only five days ago. Under normal circumstances he would be able to remember everything that went on during a day that recent, but some things that should be easy were still a blur. It frustrated him to no end. Jacoby had been there, he knew that much, droning on about things he couldn't call to mind. Edie had been there too but had said something about getting coffee and left him alone with Jacoby. Not alone. Dr. Carson had been there. What he did clearly recall was the sharp pounding in his head and the feeling of intense dizziness that had suddenly washed over him, his stomach roiling and bile rising in his throat, being on his knees in front of the toilet.

He remembered seeing Jacoby's hat lying on the chair the policeman had been sitting on and a mug of hot coffee on the tray between the bed and wheelchair. Somewhere along the line Edie had returned with his promised cup of coffee and Jacoby had disappeared, uncharacteristically leaving his beloved fedora behind. But it had been gone later so the Lieutenant had apparently come back to retrieve it at some point. Or Pop or Edie or one of the nurses had taken it to the nurses station figuring he'd show up for it.

The PI gave an outward sigh and rubbed at the back of his neck, his gaze on the beige and blue floor tiles as he tried to stave off an impending headache. Edie had eventually returned, slipping into his hospital room ahead of Pop as the man held the door for her. Her eyes, which she tried to avoid him seeing, had been rimmed with red and her nose had been pink and shiny. She'd been crying, that was obvious, he could see that from across the room. He wasn't a private investigator for nothing. And he certainly wasn't blind when it came to her.

Sometime between him heaving his lunch into the bathroom toilet and Edie and Pop returning to the room something had happened. And it involved his friend Jacoby. Pete wasn't unaware of the blow hot blow cold relationship between his girl and his friend. He remembered Edie once telling him, it seemed eons ago now but was in reality just over a year, that Jacoby didn't like her. He recalled laughing at her insistence that Jacoby saw her as 'competition for his affections' as she put it. Turned out she'd had a point. The policeman's attitude when she was around or if Pete happened to mention her name was often dismissive. Pete figured it would come to a head one of these days but had shoved any thoughts of how that might happen to those dark and shady places at the back of his mind. What would be would be. And whatever the reason or the outcome Jacoby would take a back seat to Edie. She was the most important thing in his life and nothing would ever change that, not even his feelings for his longtime cop friend.

"Jacoby said something didn't he?"

Frank's expression didn't change as he looked at his son. Another question he'd planned for but hadn't given thorough thought about how to answer. Those thoughts during the past week had been mostly taken up with appreciating the fact that his son was alive and somewhat well. Allowing his mind to become occupied with anything else didn't seem something he could justify to himself. He could pass on to Pete the few salient facts he'd gotten from Jacoby but what good would that do any of them? And he certainly had no desire to get involved in what was a personal matter between his son and his friend and a private matter between the kids. He'd long ago discovered that trying not to interfere in your child's life was the absolute hardest thing to do as a parent. You raise them, you try to instill ethics and responsibility and love, but at some point you have to let go and allow them to live their own lives and make their own mistakes and find their own joys.

He could prevaricate and obfuscate. He remembered being pretty darn good at that when he worked for the government. It came in handy when dealing with moonshiners and bootleggers. So he just shrugged and attempted to be as vague as possible.

"I asked Edie at the time if she wanted to talk about what had her so upset but she said no. I didn't push her." He reached for his mug and drained the last mouthful of coffee, eyeing his son benignly as he set the mug back on the table. "I figured she'd eventually talk to you if she thought it warranted discussion."

Pete's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he stared at his dad. He rubbed at his face with both hands and wished suddenly that he had a cigarette. He hadn't had a smoke since he had been home, and obviously hadn't in the hospital. He'd gone as long and longer without cigarettes before. He tried to stop the habit on occasion, knowing he'd probably be better off if he did quit, but the ache for one during a particularly tough job usually ended the experiment. He remembered with a sudden clarity craving one a couple times when he was lying in that cold dark basement, wondering if maybe they'd somehow overlooked the pack of Luckies he always carried in his breast pocket...

His unseeing gaze was riveted on Pop, the motion of his hands stopping, leaving his face half covered, his eyes staring over the top of his fingers. Where had that come from? He heard his dad say something else but didn't respond, trying instead to dig deeper into his subconscious for an answer to his question. It never came and he was finally brought back to the present by the elder Gunn's voice asking him if something was wrong.

"What? No, nothing's wrong. I just-" Pete shook his head, irritated at himself for letting that thought slip away, that memory, that inkling of everything he wanted so desperately to remember. With an inward sigh he gathered up the hot toddy he'd concocted for Edie and told Frank goodnight.

Pete paused in the kitchen doorway and turned halfway around.

"Oh, and Pop..." An amused smile tilted his lips. He happened to be a post-graduate at prevarication and obfuscation too, among other things. "Don't think I didn't notice you evaded my question. Nice save."

* * *

Edie looked up curiously as Pete opened the bedroom door, her eyes lighting on the mug he carried, a tender smile curving her lips as she recognized his thoughtfulness. Even in his worst times he tended to think of her before anything else. She put her book down, placing it page-first on the quilt so she wouldn't lose her place, and accepted the mug as he handed it to her, the almost hot stoneware warming her hands. She brought it to her mouth and swallowed a sip, grimacing at the taste yet enjoying the feeling of the liquid slipping down her throat.

 _One._

Pete maintained that it always took exactly five sips of this particular beverage to lull her to sleep. It was her opinion that he was teasing her about that. She decided on the spot to test his allegations and prove he was trying to put one over on her. It certainly was good stuff once you got past that first swallow though.

"Pete." She allowed her head to find his shoulder as he slid back into the bed beside her, watching as he pulled the sheet and blanket up to his waist, trying to dislodge the feline who had made his way back to the foot of the bed.

"Yes, dear heart."

Edie smiled. She loved the way he said that, the manner in which the words fell from his lips. She would always be his dear heart. He had told her so in so many ways and on so many different occasions and when he hadn't actually said the words he had shown her with his mouth and his hands and his body. Peter Gunn didn't lie. He was an honorable man. A soft sigh escaped her lips. Which meant he was most likely right on the mark when he said five sips put her out like a light.

 _Two._

Mmm. That was better than the first. Still nice and warm but much more mellow. She could already feel that dull ache inside her begin to subside.

"Remember the time I had the flu and I sent you to the drugstore for tampons?"

"Vaguely," Pete muttered. How could he ever forget? It wouldn't exactly go down as one of his finest moments. He slipped his arm behind Edie's shoulders and and brought her in closer, making them both more comfortable against the pillows. He plucked the mug from her hands and tasted the toddy, wondering if he'd somehow overdone things with the Jameson's. She sounded like she was getting woozy. It tasted all right to him. He set the mug back in her hands.

"You were so embarrassed. You told me never to ask you to do anything like that again."

"I wasn't embarrassed," he denied. He would never admit to being embarrassed. A little flustered maybe, but that had been the extent of it. After all, he was a full grown man of the world. A man for hire. It took a lot more than picking up a few personal items for his girl to rattle his nerves. That was his story anyway. "And I don't recall saying that."

"Maybe not with your voice," she said, an engaging earnestness coloring her expression. "But it was written all over your face."

Pete idly wondered if there was a point to this conversation. With Edie one never knew. Surely she- His face took on an almost agonized look.

"Do you need me to run to the drugstore for something?" He put on a brave face. He could throw on some clothes and walk up the street to Miller's Rexall. Jack Miller was used to him coming in at odd hours and he didn't make other people's business his own business. Pete had frequented the drugstore even when he'd been in his old apartment and now it was conveniently just three blocks away. He supposed he could drop into the all-night doughnut shop on the walk back.

"No, Pete." She smiled and leaned in to give him a kiss. "I was just reminded of how nice you are to do things like that for me. I don't think most men would. Thank you." She raised the mug to her lips, her smile remaining in place as she gazed at him over the rim. The liquid wasn't quite as warm and the flavor of the whiskey had grown stronger.

 _Three._

Edie decided she felt really good, the toddy was working its magic. But she didn't feel sleepy. She was wide awake and enjoying a nice conversation with her lover. A fabulous warmth was spreading through her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She wiggled those toes then chuckled as Thomas magically woke from his slumber to pounce on them. Five sips! Ha! She'd be wide awake long after that and the cup would be empty and she'd prove Mr. Smartypants Gunn wrong.

"I'll miss your dad after he leaves." She gave him a glance from beneath drowsy lashes.

"So will I."

He watched as her hands tightened around the mug and she gave him her full attention. The primrose blue of her eyes was enough to mesmerize him every time.

"He reminds me of Papa." she made a face. "I don't know why. They don't favor each other or anything like that. They don't have the same mannerisms." Her shoulders lifted in a little shrug. "I just feel good around him. He makes me feel safe like Papa does."

Pete had an idea he knew why but he didn't say so. Joe Hart was a steady and easygoing man. He looked at life from a lot of different viewpoints, a habit he'd grown into during thirty-three years of driving a bus around his town. He was a lot like Jack Miller and the folks at Mother's and yes, Frank Gunn, in that he was slow to judge and quick to find the best parts of the people he met. He'd looked at Pete and had immediately seen the good in him, had recognized the younger man's undeniable love for his daughter. Papa Hart might not agree with the manner in which they conducted their relationship, but he knew his daughter had found the love of her life, and he couldn't fault either of them for that. Besides which he decided he liked Pete very much. But that didn't mean he didn't have some choice parting words for the PI when it was time for him and Mary Grace Hart to leave after their surprise visit six months prior. Just as Pop would undoubtedly have a few observations of his own before boarding his airplane Tuesday morning.

 _Four._

Edie lowered the mug and released a quiet sigh. She watched Thomas rise from his spot at the foot of the bed, stretch languorously and hop to the floor. One orange paw found the crack in the slightly ajar bedroom door and pulled it open just enough for the cat to slip through.

"I don't think Mr. Bartel is going to renew the lease on my apartment."

Her quiet words forced Pete's thoughts away from Papa Hart and prevented them from wandering further down that slippery road to the family members who didn't appreciate quite so much his presence in Edie's life. He tilted his head and looked into her face, irritation evidenced by the stony glint in his deep blue gaze.

"Why? Because of that silly fiasco with the corpse in the shower? It wasn't even your shower. You were only in that apartment because yours was being painted." The private investigator shook his head, offended the apartment manager would consider evicting Edie over an incident she'd had no control over. Bartel had always seemed somewhat overbearing but Pete hadn't thought he'd go that far. "He can't do that. I'll talk to him tomorrow."

"I don't think it would make any difference." Edie yawned and tried to keep her eyes from slipping shut. Maybe Mr. Smartypants was right after all. "He already gave me a letter of intent." At his questioning look she explained it had been in her mailbox when she had stopped by the apartment on Friday. She hadn't said anything because she didn't want to worry him. He had enough on his plate right now.

 _Five._

She fought back another yawn and nestled her head into his neck, enjoying the feel of his warm skin. The heat radiating from his body combined with the heat of the whiskey-laced drink to produce a feeling of intense lethargy and a growing need to close her eyes and let sleep take over.

"Edie..." Pete lifted her chin with the touch of a forefinger and waited for her to look at him. "It's my job to worry about you." Her bemused gaze brought a chuckle from the PI and he reached for the mug to set it safely out of the way before the remainder of the drink spilled onto the quilt. He moved her book to the nightstand, helped her scoot further under the covers and rearranged her pillow, telling her they'd talk about it tomorrow, then watched as her eyes closed and her breathing became a steady rhythm.

Slumber didn't come as quickly for him. He sat for another hour, flipping through the police file and listening to Edie sleep, before finally switching off the bedside lamp. He lay awake in the dark for an even longer time, his mind moving at a pace that wouldn't let him relax, his body tense beneath the bed covers. At some point he must have finally dozed off, only to be plagued by continuous dreams that were nothing but a jumble of disconnected thoughts and images.

Sometime toward dawn Pete awoke abruptly, eyes staring into the darkness, half awake and gasping for breath. It was raining. The pounding of large drops against the rooftops joined forces with the tapping of small pellets of sleet on the window, creating a rush of sound that seemed to be in competition with the howling wind to see which could make the most noise. He heard water dripping somewhere nearby. A constant drip, drip, drip. Thunder rumbled in the distance, masking the monotonous tone for a few seconds, then it was back again. The sound preyed on his subconscious. Drip, drip, drip. He knew that sound. He could almost place it. He just needed to concentrate.

He struggled to wake up fully but he couldn't move. Something was holding him down, something kept his arms from moving and wouldn't allow him to roll onto his back. He felt as if he was suffocating and then felt a cold panic at the sound of a voice. His fingers clawed at the surface he was lying on, his hands pushed at it in a rush of dread. Suddenly he was free and found the strength to turn over, striking out blindly as he felt cool hands touching his bare skin, grasping at him, fingernails biting into his shoulder. Pete tried to pull away, attempted to push at whoever or whatever was grabbing at him. But he didn't seem to have strength enough to get away.

Then he heard the voice again, closer and not camouflaged by the haze of sleep. He felt the hands, not grasping or rough but comforting and tender. And it was her voice and her hands, not theirs. He felt her body wrap around his, her arms sheltering him, her breath against his face as she spoke in a whisper.

"Everything is all right, honey. You're here with me." Edie ran her fingers over his hair, pushed it away from his forehead, smoothed the short spikes that stuck up in disarray courtesy of the pillow. His breathing was ragged and he was sweating. "You were having a nightmare. That's all it was, just a bad dream."

She released him and leaned across his body to switch the lamp on. The sudden glare of light was painfully bright and made Pete blink and turn his face away. Yet at the same time he was glad of it, glad to be released from the dark evil that had been suffocating him. Edie lay back down beside him and took him in her arms again and he wrapped his own around her, clutching her close and burying his face in the soft warm curve of her shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

Pete almost had to laugh. She had turned his words around on him. But he just held her tighter and lifted his head to look into her eyes.

"I'm always okay when I'm with you."


	33. Chapter 33

****I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. I wish I could tempt him away from her but that will never happen.****

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 33**

Peter Gunn pulled at one cuff of his white Brooks Brothers dress shirt and then the other, making sure about an inch of white was visible at the end of each arm of his tailor-made charcoal gray suit. He stretched his shoulders and fiddled with his dark red silk necktie, feeling strangely ill at ease in a suit after not wearing one for a number of weeks. The PI looked at his wristwatch for the third time in two minutes. Frank Gunn afforded his son a long glance, his lips quirking with silent laughter.

"Will this fancy place of yours hold our reservations if we're late?"

"We won't be late," Pete assured him with a resigned sigh. "We'll arrive fashíonably on time."

The older man picked up the car keys from the little table where he'd dropped them the other night when he returned from his night out at Barney's place.

"I guess I should do the gentlemanly thing and drive this evening. That way you and Edie can have the back seat." Frank tossed the keys into the air and caught them expertly as they came back down. "Just point me in the right direction and I shouldn't have any problem finding the way."

"So you can pretend you're the chauffeur?" Pete reached out a long arm and snatched the keys from his father's fingers. "No thanks. Edie can drive. You two can sit up front and I'll take the back. I'll have more room to stretch out."

"Still feeling some twinges in those ribs?" He received a dark look in response. "Tell you what, you sit up front with Edie. That way you'll have lots of leg room. I don't mind sitting in the back by myself."

Noticing he'd lost his son's attention about halfway through his comment, Frank turned his head to look behind himself. His eyebrows rose in admiration and he turned all the way around at the sight of the young woman coming down the stairs. Edie Hart was dressed in a black dress that hung to just below her knees. The skirt was chiffon and the top was some type of lacy material that he couldn't find a name for but it looked very nice and was set off by the black belt at her waist. While it was very dressy, with the deep color and high neckline, the short sleeves also leant it a look of casual elegance. The double strand of pearls she wore created an image of quiet sophistication. Her hair was done up in a look he hadn't seen before, off her shoulders with whispy tendrils caressing her neck.

Edie looked up as she reached the bottom step and smiled at the two men. She extended her wrist to Frank, asking if he'd attach the clasp on the bracelet for her, then met Pete's gaze with her own. She glanced away almost shyly at what she saw there, her eyes going to the item of jewelry that was now firmly in place, then raised her eyes again as the PI spoke.

"You look very pretty." His voice was low and carried a rough quality she loved.

Frank gaped at his son. Is that all the boy could say? You look pretty? Then he saw the expression in the younger man's eyes as he stared at the woman. That look said more than mere words ever could. _I love you. I adore you. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Are you really mine? What did I ever do to deserve you?_ His gaze shifted to Edie and he read the same message in return. Frank cleared his throat in as subtle a manner as he could, trying somehow to break this spell he'd inadvertently been trapped in with the youngsters. He watched Edie drop her gaze and reach for the keys in Pete's hand.

"Why don't we let Pop drive and we all three sit in the front seat?" As she placed the keys in Frank's palm he glanced at the necklace she wore then met her eyes with a smile and an appreciative nod. Then he looked at Pete.

"Why didn't _we_ think of that?" Frank wondered.

"We're men," Pete answered, his face expressionless but a glint of amusement evident in his blue eyes, like the answer wasn't anything new to him. "We're not logical." A smile found its way to his lips as he draped a soft sweater across Edie's shoulders and opened the apartment door. "At least that's what I've been told."

It wasn't until they were seated at one of the half-circle cushioned booths at _Leslie's_ some twenty minutes later that Frank actually gave voice to the jewelry Edie had chosen to wear that evening. He leaned close to quietly tell her how much he appreciated seeing the necklace, bracelet and earrings once again being enjoyed by a beautiful woman.

"I'm glad they finally have someone to do them justice."

Edie gave him what had quickly become his favorite smile before their conversation was interrupted by the approach of a tall dark-haired man in a black suit and tie and wearing a carnation in his lapel. The newcomer's stern-faced attention appeared to be riveted on the third member of their small group. The genteel proprietor and namesake of _Leslie's_ looked at Peter Gunn through critical though somewhat amused brown eyes as he stood next to the table, his hands behind him.

"What are you doing here?" The man's voice was brusque but again there was that same hint of humor as in his gaze as he scrutinized the fading bruises on his guest's face. "Trying to scare my customers away?"

"The brand of customers you cater to don't scare." The PI didn't even look up from his perusal of the menu.

"All kinds enjoy the experience of dining at _Leslie's_. Don't generalize."

"If you say so," Pete answered somewhat agreeably. He lifted his gaze to meet the other man's eyes. "Thanks for the plant by the way."

"You're welcome. I thought a Creeping Charlie most appropriate."

"Why am I not surprised?" Pete countered wryly. Then he lowered his menu and made a motion toward his father. "This is my dad, Frank."

"Mr. Gunn." Leslie gave the elder man a respectful nod. "My condolences." He smiled cheekily and turned his attention to Edie. "Ah, Miss Hart. As lovely as ever."

"Hello, Leslie." The blonde charmed him with her smile.

The restaurateur brought his hands from behind his back and with a flourish extended a fancily labeled dark bottle toward his guests.

"May I interest you in a glass of wine before you order?"

"Pete can't have wine," Edie lamented, not for herself but for the man sitting to her left. Leslie kept a large cellar of fine vintages and though she and Pete were only moderate imbibers they both usually enjoyed a glass when visiting the restaurant.

"Ah. Then take it home with you and save it for a special occasion."

"Is it a good year?" Pete accepted the bottle and peered closely at the label.

"Don't look a gift wine in the mouth," Leslie warned with a mock frown.

"Thanks, Leslie."

The man gave a smiling nod then personally took their dinner requests, complimenting Edie Hart on her eagerness to try the fresh catch-of-the-day special of roasted sea bass with grilled asparagus and broad beans, and agreeing with first time diner Frank Gunn that the sirloin tips with horseradish butter sauce and wild rice was an excellent choice. When it came to Peter Gunn his words weren't quite so kind.

"Why must you always order the same thing?" He gave an exaggerated sigh.

"I can't help it if you make the best stuffed pork chops in town, Leslie."

"Why can't you be as adventurous as Miss Hart when it comes to dining at _Leslie's_? She makes it a point to try something new every time you grace us with your presence."

"When it comes to food Miss Hart is adventurous enough for both of us." Pete folded his menu and offered it to Leslie but the man simply stood his ground and stared at him with raised eyebrows. The PI's sigh challenged Leslie's for longevity. "Fine," he finally said. "I'll go with the baked potato instead of mashed. Make you happy?"

Leslie snatched the menu from Pete's hand, shook his head dolefully and disappeared through the crowd of tables, stopping on occasion to converse with other diners before striding through the large swinging doors of the kitchen.

"Sounds like you and Mr. Leslie have known each other for a while," Frank commented, reaching for a garlic stick as their waiter appeared and placed bread in the middle of the table and set long glasses of iced tea, hazy with condensation, in front of each guest.

"Not Mr. Leslie, Pop. Just Leslie."

"You mean like Elvis? Or Liberace?"

"Not exactly," Pete chuckled, passing rolls and butter to the woman sitting between he and his dad. "I helped him out of a sticky situation a few years ago."

"Dare I ask?"

"One of his regulars died from eating poison mushrooms." Pete smiled as his father paused in the process of biting into his bread, giving it a wary look then slowly lowering it to the little plate at his elbow. Pete glanced around then tipped his head at a table near the front window. "Right over there. Fell face first into his soup." He went on to explain how the police had initially suspected Leslie until he himself had been able to convince Jacoby that the man would be an idiot to murder someone in his own restaurant. And really? _Leslie_?

Time caught up with them after much banter, story telling, laughter and good food when Edie checked the PI's watch and decided she'd best get to work before Mother decided to send out a search party. It was almost nine o'clock, the time by which she'd promised the woman she would be at the club. Emmett was probably on edge, keeping an eye on both the front and back doors of the club, nervous that she might have changed her mind about coming back to work tonight.

"And we're dropping you at the Precinct building on our way," Frank reminded his son.

Edie made a face. She wasn't happy with Pete's decision to visit with Lieutenant Jacoby before joining them at _Mother's_. Why couldn't he be sensible for once and just drop the file off and talk to the policeman by phone tomorrow? She and Pop could wait for him in the car while he walked up to Jacoby's office or one of them could run inside and drop the file with him or Sergeant Davis. She'd put all those arguments to Pete in the car on the way to _Leslie's_ but he hadn't budged. He'd be just fine. He would hand the file over to the Lieutenant, stay and chat for a while – he didn't say about the case but that's what Edie heard implied – then call a cab or catch a ride up River Street with one of the patrol officers heading in that direction.

It wasn't the fact that Pete was visiting the Precinct. That it was the Lieutenant he would be talking to had no bearing either. Edie had to admit both of those to herself, as well as what was really bothering her. Her man would be on his own for the first time since he'd run afoul of Denner and his associates almost three weeks ago. Sure he'd stayed at home by himself, but this time he'd be outside that haven of security. He would be out in that sometimes cruel world where anything could happen. Where something did happen. In a world where he was Peter Gunn, Man for Hire, where there were people who without a doubt were happy he was out of commission and would like nothing better than for him to stay that way. That scared her. She rather he be at home, just Pete, for a while longer.

Edie felt the intensity of Pete's gaze from time to time as Pop drove them to the Precinct but he didn't say anything during the ten minutes it took them to get there. When he got out of the car though she quickly felt the loss of his warmth and solid strength. She slid over in the seat and rolled the window down even as he was shutting the door. Before she could say anything he leaned in and kissed her and promised not to be long. She held onto that promise as she watched him take the concrete steps to the glass doors of the Precinct building, her gaze remaining on those doors even as Frank Gunn pulled away from the curb and pointed the car in the direction of _Mother's_.

* * *

The private investigator stood in the open doorway of the policeman's office for several minutes, unseen and unheard by Jacoby. The Lieutenant seemed bent on clearing out the old metal filing cabinet that was home to his case files, pulling first one then another and yet another from the top drawer and quickly glancing through them before tossing each to the couch and creating several ever-growing piles.

"You keep at it there won't be anything left in there for you to work on," Pete teased, his voice filled with amusement as he moved to lean casually against the door frame, right hand dipping into his pants pocket, left hand loosely holding the manila police file he was returning. He tapped the folder restlessly against his leg. "You'll be redundant. The powers that be might decide they don't need you. Then what will you do with yourself?"

"Pete!" Jacoby did a quick about face, an eager smile splitting his cheeks as he took a hasty step forward. Then he seemed to catch himself, his hand reaching to straighten his tie as he cleared his throat, a sober expression erasing his grin. "I mean... Pete." The cop tried to act nonchalant and unimpressed at his friend's sudden appearance, shoving the top file drawer shut and pulling open the middle. "What are you doing here?" he voiced gruffly.

"Nice to see you too, Lieutenant," the PI returned, nary a crack appearing in the urbane veneer of his face. He stepped inside the office and held the file toward Jacoby. "You needed this back."

Jacoby accepted the folder and tossed it to his desk and stared at it before turning back to his friend. He looked on as Pete picked up the paperweight from the edge of the desk, holding it this way and that to reflect its colors before putting it back where he found it. The heavy glass bauble held some strange fascination for the investigator. The cop lifted a hand to cover his mouth, hiding the way the corners of his lips twitched as he watched his friend reacquaint himself with the office. The pudgy policeman finally gave in to his feelings.

"I'm going to tell you something Pete," he solemnly began in his soft voice, "and if I ever find out you've repeated a word of it to anybody I'll flatly and categorically deny it."

"Fine." The private investigator lifted a sheet of paper from the letter box at the corner of the policeman's desk, managing to read a few juicy words regarding a current murder investigation before Jacoby snatched it away and put it back where it belonged.

"If I've told you once I've told you a hundred times, leave my paperwork alone. That's police business and not for prying eyes."

"Mmm..." Pete sounded unconcerned. "Now what was it you wanted to say to me?"

"I think I may have changed my mind," Jacoby sighed.

"Well now, Lieutenant, that's not very nice. Leading me on with all those flowery words and then acting that way. I'm disappointed at something like that coming from a man of your stature."

"I've missed you, Pete."Jacoby grimaced at the quick way he interrupted his friend with those words. He couldn't keep them in. No matter how much Peter Gunn tended to get on his nerves at times or how annoyed he often got at the man's antics, he was still his very good friend who'd saved his derriere on more than one occasion. And he truly had missed his presence. "We all have," he hastily added. No use giving Pete a big head at the idea he couldn't do without him. It was a general thing, right? Everyone had felt his absence.

"Thanks, Lieutenant." The PI's lip's tilted in a half smile. "I think."

Jacoby pulled out his desk chair and dropped into it.

"Now that all the pleasantries are out of the way I suppose you want to give me the third degree about how I handled this," the policeman commented, squaring the returned file in the middle of his desk and clasping his hands on top of it. He watched his friend try to hide a grimace as he lowered himself into the chair beside the desk. It looked good to see him in that suit and tie. It was an indication the world had righted itself.

The dark haired man took a while to answer and Jacoby could only wonder at what was going through his mind as he sat there. If one looked up the definition of a poker face in the dictionary one would find a picture of the man sitting across from him. The PI was sporting that face at its best tonight. Pete finally moved, reaching absently to the left breast pocket of his shirt for a pack of Luckies that weren't there. He sighed and folded his arms across his chest and stared at a picture on the wall above the file cabinet.

"Not really," he finally admitted. "I read the file and re-read it and planned out all the things I was going to say or ask about. I was still going through it in my mind on the way over here."

Pete unfolded his arms and reached one hand into his pants pocket for the gold lighter he always carried with him. He leaned forward and stared at it, long fingers flipping it open and snapping it shut as he turned it over and over in his hand. After a while he lifted his eyes to look at Jacoby.

"Somewhere between the front steps and your office I decided it wasn't worth obsessing over." He sat up straight and gave the cop an amused smile. "That's one of those things I need to become better at. Not obsessing." Then he became serious again. "I appreciate everything you did. You went above and beyond, did a lot of things you wouldn't have done in the ordinary scheme of things. I owe you."

"You owe me nothing, Pete." The policeman shook his head. "And it wasn't just me, it was everyone in the precinct. And beyond. You're one of us," he added with a quirky smile. "Much as it pains me to admit."

"All that being said..." The PI smiled his thanks, "...any chance I can pay this Marconi fellow a visit?"

"Not one in hell." Jacoby leaned back in his chair, hands clasped over his stomach. "He's not getting away scot free. He'll be serving a good long stretch in State prison. You being allowed to see him would have his attorney all over me and the department and would put all of that at risk. Forget it." He gave his wall calendar a quick glance. "Mr. Marconi – and I use that title loosely – is being transferred out of here Wednesday morning. And good riddance."

"I'm missing my favorite collar pin, a black suit, a work tie and an almost new pair of black leather shoes," Pete said, neither arguing nor skipping a beat.

"I'm not your jeweler, your tailor or your shoe salesman." The Lieutenant offered his visitor his best bland expression. "All those items were returned to-" He paused and rubbed his palm over his head. "I gave everything to your dad."

Jacoby stared down at his clasped hands, feeling Pete's speculative gaze, waiting for him to say something. To give voice to the thought that was evident in his eyes.

"Look..." Pete sighed, his dark gaze on his friend. "I know something happened between you and Edie." He held up his hand as Jacoby raised his head and opened his mouth and looked like he wanted to say something. "I don't know what it was. I don't _need_ to know what it was. And it doesn't matter if it was her fault or yours. I just need you to fix it."

Both men were silent, each lost in his own thoughts.

"It was." Pete glanced across the desk at the cop's quiet words.

"Was what?"

"My fault," Jacoby admitted. "I said something I shouldn't have. It just popped out of my mouth, I couldn't stop it, and before I could say I was sorry she..." He shrugged. "I want to apologize. I've even gotten as far as getting into the car and driving over to your place a couple of times. But that's as far as it gets. I just sit in the car at the curb because I can't think of what to say that will let her know how truly sorry I am."

"It's not that hard. Just tell her you're sorry." Pete gave a weak grin. "She's normally a pretty forgiving sort."

"I made her angry a couple times over the past few weeks, too," the policeman admitted. He offered Pete a droll yet somewhat surprised look. "She can be really scary when she's mad."

"You're telling me."

"She's scary to you?"

"All women are scary to me."

The two men shared a chuckle and spent a few more minutes talking until Pete glanced at his watch and stood up, commenting that his dad and Edie had dropped him off on the way to _Mother's_. He'd promised not to be too long so he really needed to move along. At his words Jacoby pushed himself up and reached for his hat, saying he'd drive him over. When the PI demurred the cop insisted.

"I haven't been by in a couple weeks. Not since just after you went missing," he said, ushering Pete out the door. "Maybe this time they won't look at me like a pariah." The whimsical humor in his voice was overshadowed by the serious expression on his face.

* * *

It felt good to be sitting at Mother's favorite table, to one side of the smoke-filled club but close enough to the stage that he had a clear view of his girl as she sang. The combo had been playing when he and Jacoby came in, the policeman staying just long enough to say hello to Frank Gunn and the club's owner before heading back to the Precinct and the paperwork awaiting him there. Pete's watch had told him that Edie would be back on stage in just a few minutes so instead of heading for her dressing room he'd pulled out a chair and sat down next to Mother. The old woman gave him the big smile she'd held in reserve until the Lieutenant was gone. She may have forgiven Jacoby for losing Pete those three long weeks ago, might harbor good thoughts and thankfulness toward him for finding him back, but she wasn't quite ready for all her feelings to return to normal toward him. One day soon, but not today. So now she smiled at the PI and gave him a friendly chuck under the chin before leaning aside for Barney to set his glass of ginger ale in front of him. The bartender gave Pete his own goofy smile and clapped him on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Pop had his own chair moved around so that it faced the stage. He didn't want to miss a minute of the action and he'd been impressed at what he'd seen and heard to this point. The girl could certainly sing. She'd done two sets with the musicians so far and he was mesmerized by her voice. It was no wonder his son was so entranced by her. And boy could that combo play! Edie had introduced him to the guys – he recalled briefly hearing them play the last time he had visited but couldn't for the life of him remember whether they were the same musicians or not – Kevin Murphy on drums, Leo Franklin on bass, Marvin Duffy on trumpet, trombonist Owen Snyder, Buddy Brewer on saxophone, Vic Sullivan on marimbas and guitarist Hank Morelli. And of course he already knew the pianist, Emmett Ward.

Five minutes after Pete arrived another musician stepped from the back to sit in with the combo, oohs and aahs rippling through the audience as he lifted his trumpet and the first notes of a familiar tune sliced through the smokey air. Pete recalled the very first time he had heard Shorty Rogers play along with 'How High the Moon', the same night the Frog had been murdered and he'd brought the scrawny kitten soon to be named Thomas home to Edie. He leaned back and watched and listened as she began to sing, gave a sideways glance at Pop and raised an eyebrow at the way the older man was nodding in time with the beat of the music, looked back across the short distance to catch her glancing toward the front door then hooking her surprised gaze as it found him where he was sitting. She smiled a secret smile that really wasn't a secret and sang straight to him as though no one else existed. _Somewhere_ _there's_ _heaven_ , she told him and only him. _It's where you are_. He knew Pop saw that look and heard those words and turned his head in his direction, he could see it all out of the corner of his eye, but he paid him no mind. He returned her smile with a little one of his own, his expression bemused as she became the focus of his attention. All too soon it was over and his gaze trailed after her as she paused and smiled to the crowd and bowed her head in acknowledgment and disappeared from the stage.

As the musicians took a break Shorty accompanied Emmett over to their table to thank Mother for the opportunity to sit in with the combo. Pete introduced the trumpet player to his dad and then Edie was there, sitting beside him. Pete stretched his arm across the back of her chair, his hand on her shoulder, and listened with half an ear to an animated discussion of today's music versus that of Frank and Mother's generation, albeit Mother had a few years on Pop. The older man kept fiddling with the paper napkin that had been placed beneath his glass, the PI half afraid he was going to whip it out and ask Shorty to autograph it. That would be embarrassing! Pop must have seen the warning in his eyes because he dropped his hands into his lap and leaned back in his chair and gave his son a sheepish smile.

The night passed quickly, Edie back and forth from the table to the stage, then all over again, the men watching and listening and enjoying the various moods of the songs as well as the musicians between sets. At about a quarter after one, just as Edie sat down, Mother reached across and touched her hand, telling her to get her things and go home. Time enough to get back into the routine tomorrow night, she told her girl singer, Pete's dad was leaving shortly so she and the PI should spend those last few hours with him. She smiled when no argument was forthcoming and bade Frank Gunn a fond farewell as the trio stepped out into the muggy darkness of early morning.


	34. Chapter 34

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. I'd love to own Pete but I know that's an impossibility. His heart belongs to Edie and it always will.**

 _Thanks so very much to Melchy for her help along the line during this chapter. Those little suggestions to my questions are always appreciated more than she realizes. Some of Pop's conversation with "the kids" is especially due to her input._

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 34**

Frank Gunn shifted in his seat and tried to stretch his legs a little as he pulled the red curtain away from the window and peeked outside. The sun was behind the plane and the clouds were thick below so there really wasn't anything to see. They'd been in the air for a half hour already but he was still restless and probably driving the woman seated next to him crazy. Leaving the curtain open he leaned back and gave the gray-haired lady a sideways glance. She looked to be asleep or maybe she was pretending. Either way it was just as well, he didn't feel like carrying on a conversation. He wondered if he'd made Pete mad. It was hard to tell sometimes even with him being his son and being acquainted with his demeanor. He could tell he'd embarrassed him though, that much had been evident. But it didn't hurt to embarrass your kids on occasion. You could both learn something from it. He gave a snort of silent laughter that Pete always let him get away with as much as he did.

He sure would miss his son. He always did after they spent time together. But somehow after these last couple of weeks things felt different, almost like he was flying away from home instead of toward it. Des Moines seemed to physically tug at him from a thousand miles away. It was the town he had lived in since Pete had been just a little tyke, where his house was, where the woman he loved had been laid to rest sixteen years ago. It was also the place he'd met another woman with whom he was very much looking forward to beginning a new chapter in the book of life. But Pete's town tugged at him in another way. It pulled at his heartstrings. He'd visited Pete there before and had always felt like he was leaving a part of him behind when he left, but this time it was different. It was a hundred times worse. A thousand times. Maybe because this time it wasn't just his boy he was flying away from, it was his family. Something that had consisted of just the two of them for so many years had grown. There was now this young woman, this someday wife for his son, who he already considered a daughter. There were unformed, unnamed, unknown grandchildren who he suddenly and desperately wanted to see come into the world and hold and love. They would make beautiful children, his son and this woman, and the thought of missing out on any moment in the lives of those kids was depressing to say the least.

The man sighed and fidgeted and then tried to make himself comfortable in his seat, his neck feeling awkward against the headrest, and thought back over the last several hours. They had left _Mother's_ , deciding on the way to the car that they would save breakfast for later, it seeming more feasible to stop by the diner at a more reasonable hour on the way to the airport. Instead he had driven them back to the apartment where they had changed clothes and he had gathered his remaining belongings and added them to his luggage in the trunk of the car. He and Pete had migrated to the patio, the fresh air a welcome relief after the smoke-filled environment of _Mother's_ , at least to the elder Gunn. The multitude of lights across the river cast liquid reflections on the rippling water visible from where the two men sat, a companionable silence prevailing for a while between father and son.

He'd felt Pete's eyes on him as they sat there, his boy's gaze bouncing back and forth between him and those twinkling lights. The younger man had finally gotten up and gone inside, coming back with the coffee carafe and filling both their cups before setting it down on the table between them. He'd also laid a pack of Lucky Strikes and his lighter next to the pot...

* * *

Pete took an almost scalding sip of coffee from his white stoneware cup and released a satisfied sigh. Reaching for the Luckies he jostled one out and tapped the tobacco-filled end on the pack a couple times before raising the cigarette to his mouth and reaching for his lighter. He released a puff of smoke which be contemplated as he watched it rise into the still air and disappear, then turned his head to look at his dad at a chuckle from the older man.

"You've been wanting one of those all night," Pop charged with a knowing smile.

"I've been wanting one all week," Pete admitted.

"It's as good a time as any to quit."

"I know." The PI expelled smoke through his nostrils and leaned back in his chair, the cigarette held loosely between his thumb and forefinger as he stared at the glowing tip with a sheepish smile. "One of these days." He extended the pack toward his dad.

"You know I don't smoke those things," Frank groused. "Not that I wouldn't mind a good cigar right about now." He leaned back, mimicking Pete's pose, and blew on his coffee before swallowing a mouthful.

"Mmm-" Pete suddenly pushed himself to his feet, carefully placing his cigarette on an ashtray and disappearing into the apartment for a second time. Upon returning he set a flat wooden box on the table in front of his father and flipped open the lid, the fragrance of fine tobacco escaping as he did so. Lifting out a slim smoke he handed it to his dad, the older man raising his eyebrows and giving a surprised smile as he sat up straighter and accepted the gift and removed the wrapper. He solemnly inspected the cigar and inhaled the aroma then performed the ritual of readying the cigar and lighting it. He took a few long, deep drags as he once again relaxed in his chair, then blew a series of smoke rings into the air. A contented smile curled his lips.

"Where'd you get these?" He gave the fancy box a good look. "They're not cheap."

"Them thar cigars come straight from Texas," Pete drawled, lifting his feet to the seat of another chair. "Ya'll take 'em back with ya'll when ya'll hightail it out of here, pardner."

A sharp guffaw split the air as the older man laughed at his son's words.

"Which reminds me..." he lifted an amused eyebrow toward Pete. "You get these cigars on the same trip you picked up those beer bottles for Barney's collection? He showed me some he said you brought him from Texas."

The PI nodded and explained how he'd been hired back in February by a Texas rancher named Clay Baxter to solve his brother's murder. Baxter had sent him home with a nice paycheck, a ten gallon hat and the box of Romeo y Julieta cigars. The cigars had been in a cabinet drawer since then, Pete admitting to smoking one on the rare occasion, but they weren't something he cared for on a regular basis. Might as well go home with Pop, who'd enjoy them.

"Barney also mentioned you went to Spain last year." Some nice work on Frank's part sent a half dozen more smoke rings into the humid night air as he waited for Pete to say something. The silence dragged on so long that the older man finally continued. "Seems you would have said something about that when we talked on the phone. That's quite a distance to travel for a job." Again he waited, wondering at his son's reticence.

"It wasn't one of those jobs I like to think about a lot," Pete eventually said. The image of Joanna Lund hanging from the rafter in her hotel room continued to haunt him almost a year later. He didn't expound on his comment and Pop didn't ask any questions. Instead Frank waited him out, deciding if his son wanted to talk about it he'd listen, if he didn't want to talk that was fine too.

"It didn't have a happy ending," the PI continued after several long moments of silent meditation. "Not that most of them do. But it taught me a few well-deserved lessons."

"Such as?" Frank gently prodded.

Pete ground his cigarette in the ashtray and lit another, expelling a long stream of smoke before continuing.

"That it's never a good idea to let personal feelings interfere with a case." He grimaced and gave a shrug at his dad's inquisitive look. "Nothing out of line, Pop. I just-" Another shrug. "I felt like a sap because I let myself get drawn into the deception of the woman I was hired to find. I can't let something like that happen and still do my job, it's not fair to me and it's not fair to my client. Even if the client was a jerk to begin with and turned out not only to be a liar himself but a murderer, whether his own hands were bloodied or not."

The PI took a long drag at his cigarette and absently fiddled with the ashtray, thoughts returning to that job and the strange loneliness he had felt even while in the company of Joanna Lund and sometimes with throngs of other people around.

"The longer I was away the more homesick I got. You'd think a grown man could go a few weeks without missing a place but-" He extinguished the cigarette and then let his head fall back and stared up at the stars. "It was the longest I'd been away from home since I met Edie." Pete offered up a weak grin. "Oh, I'd had jobs that took me out of town for two or three days, or that kept me so busy here that I didn't get a chance to see her for that amount of time, but I'd never not seen her for two weeks. I called her on the phone when I could manage it but even that didn't help. I missed her and I wanted to come home." He turned his head to meet his dad's gaze. "That was something new for me, missing someone like that. Even here, when we were apart for all those weeks, I could still see her." A sheepish chuckle escaped him. "Or I could sneak out back behind _Mother's_ and listen to her sing if I wanted to. I swore to myself I'd never be away from home for that long again."

A quiet solitude encompassed the two men for a while, the soft tick-tock of the living room clock the only sound breaking the silence of their thoughts. Then Pete leaned to the side and looked down as a soft tap of little cat feet on the cement floor invaded the stillness. He reached a hand and rubbed Thomas's round furry face.

"What are you doing out here?" he gently chided. "I thought you were upstairs taking a nap with Mommy." He lifted the cat onto his lap and held him there with one large hand. "And don't get any ideas about running off. This is strange territory, you'd get lost and we'd never find you back. You might work your way down to the docks and end up with Miss Loretta again," he threatened. "With all those other cats fighting for her attention."

Frank smiled at the sight and stubbed his cigar out in the ashtray then asked his son was he sure he wanted him to take the box home with him. Receiving an affirmative answer hr promised to wrap up the one he'd been smoking and carry it home in his pocket. No use wasting a perfectly good cigar. Pete tried to hold back a laugh but could tell from his dad's stare that he hadn't succeeded.

"Your appointment with Dr. Carson is tomorrow afternoon?" Frank knew exactly when Pete's followup was but he wanted to make sure anyway. Again. At Pete's resigned nod – Pop missed the eye roll in the dark – he offered, also again, to reschedule his flight so he could be there in case the doctor didn't give Pete a full release.

"Go home, Pop." The younger man's stern order came with a teasing smile.

"You'll be seeing Dr. Stewart right after?" Gregory Stewart was the PI's regular doctor.

Pete nodded again and Pop eyed the orange feline who was turned onto his back, purring and rubbing against the man's chest. He told Pete he supposed things would seem a little lonely when he had his apartment to himself once again. Things had gotten crowded and busy with two extra people there on a regular basis as well as people visiting at all hours. He guessed Edie and the cat would be going back to her apartment after the doctors gave him their blessing? Frank's statement was more of a question, eyebrows raised in polite query.

The younger man shrugged and proceeded to tell his dad about Edie losing the lease on her apartment.

"She found a corpse in her shower?" Pop was aghast. "What is it with this town? You attract all the loonies from everywhere else? No wonder you're so busy all the time."

Pete explained that it had happened just a few weeks after he'd returned from that job in Texas. None of it had been Edie's fault, she had been moved to that apartment while her own was being painted, but now the manager had decided not to renew her lease. Mr. Bartel hadn't said that was the reason behind it but based on some of the comments he made to Edie at the time of the incident they could pretty much assume it was. Pete told her he would speak to the man but she didn't want him to make an issue of it. Bartel tended to be somewhat presumptuous and condescending about a lot of things anyway. Considering the circumstances and the irritation she felt Edie didn't want to remain at her apartment while she looked for a new place. She would be staying with Pete in the meantime.

Frank rubbed at his chin as he eyed his son, his brain working on what he'd just heard.

"Pete-" Frank paused to carefully consider his words. He'd been mulling some things he wanted to say before heading home and this conversation seemed to be offering him a golden opportunity. He cleared his throat, not knowing quite how or where to begin but deciding to jump in anyway. He could ask was that a good idea, that a woman had her reputation to consider. But that appeared to be water under the bridge. The way the two of them lived their life together didn't seem to phase anybody, their friends didn't appear to consider it anything out of the ordinary. Things had certainly changed since he was a youngster but that's what made the world go round he supposed. And he sure didn't want to give the impression he might harbor some of the same feelings and ideas that Edie's parents did, especially Mrs. Hart, because that wasn't the case. He just wanted to- Well, to be honest he wasn't certain what he wanted. As he turned things over in his mind he heard Pete sigh.

"You might as well spit it out, Pop." The PI's voice held a hint of amusement. "You've been holding it in since the other night. Wouldn't want you to explode."

"You remember Bobby Wittenhouse?"

Pete shot his dad an amused grimace and gave a snort while simultaneously lifting the ginger-colored cat from his lap and placing him on the patio floor. He pointed Thomas in the direction of the open glass door and watched as he wandered into the apartment then settled back in his chair when he saw the feline make a beeline for the kitchen. With a look at his father, wondering where that question came from and where Pop might be going with it, he gave a resigned answer.

"I remember he stole my date to the senior prom." He didn't look especially put out when he said that but he was sure the other man would pick up on the reference.

"What do you mean he stole your date? You went to the prom with Bill and Maureen Schaeffer's little girl. What was her name? Kathleen? I remember you heading out the door dressed in that brand new black suit you bought with the money you made at your part-time job at Bob Pearson's place. Your mom and I gave you that fancy black tie and those black Oxfords to wear with it."

"I asked her to go and she said yes. Actually she said something like _Oh, Peter, yes! I thought you were never going to ask._ " The girlish tone Pete used got a chuckle out of Frank. "The day before the dance when I caught her between classes to tell her what time I'd pick her up she told me I didn't have to. She said she was going with Bobby Wittenhouse."

Pete watched his dad reach for the coffee to refill their cups. The elder Gunn eyed what was left in the carafe, a thoughtful frown settling between his eyes as he slowly digested his son's words. He divided the coffee between the two then set the carafe aside with the comment that they'd make another pot later if they had time.

"Didn't he have a steady girlfriend through his last two years of school?"

"Cynthia Kirk." The PI took a sip of his coffee and held the stoneware cup in his hand as he continued to reminisce. "They were on again, off again most of their senior year. He was more interested in cars and other girls. I figured they must have been off again at the time and he took advantage of it to ask Kathleen to be his date." Pete shrugged. "I never did hear the full story and wasn't really interested in finding out."

"Who _did_ you go with then?"

"I didn't." He waved away his dad's interruption. "I went out to Brewster's Point and met up with some of the other guys who weren't going. We had hamburgers at Dickie's Diner and then went to a movie, a replay of an old Charlie Chan if I remember right. After that we just goofed off and did some stupid kid stuff." A full-blown grin crossed his face. He had a feeling Pop wasn't going to be happy with what he was about to hear. "We walked down to the old railroad trestle bridge and sat out over the river and timed how long it took rocks to hit the water."

"You what!?" Frank Gunn was aghast, he could physically feel the blood drain from his face as he wondered what would have happened if a train had come along. There would have been nowhere to go but down. Pete couldn't help but chuckle at the look on his dad's face and the question that popped out.

"I guess we would have timed how long it took _us_ to hit the water."

It was obvious the older man wasn't amused.

"After that we went up to the bluff, stripped down to our skivvies and took turns diving into the swimming hole." Pete tried not to look at his dad when he said that but couldn't help giving a sideways glance.

Frank ran a hand through his hair and rubbed at his face. The bluff his son was referring to was at least fifty feet above an old gravel pit that over the years had been filled in by the meandering of the river and was used by the kids for swimming during the summer. Diving had always been strictly prohibited. At any rate no one in his right mind would even consider-

"You're an idiot," the man ground out. "Who else was there?"

"Mike Dupont, Willie Simmons, George Grady..." Pete finished his coffee and set the cup aside, stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles, hands resting easily on the arms of the metal chair. "...Charlie Green, Dave Martin." He stared at the tips of his shoes and thought for a few seconds. "Chuck Bonner and Wayne Lester."

Frank felt the air go out of him as he sat there and stared at his son and realized what he was hearing. It took several minutes for the words he wanted to say to find their way out of his mouth.

"Stupid as you were I have a hunch you had a better time with those boys than if you'd actually made it to the dance." His gaze softened and he felt suddenly very, very old. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the patio table and stared down into the little bit of brown liquid left in his cup. "I remember the next week the Bonner and Lester boys went down to the recruitment office and enlisted."

"They both turned eighteen that same week and decided to enlist instead of registering for the draft because they wanted to serve in the Navy. Probably would have done the same thing even if there wasn't a war going on." Pete reached across for his lighter and turned it absently in his fingers. "We three were on the swim team together. You couldn't keep either one of them out of the water." He pulled his gaze from the gold of the lighter and instead stared out at the lights on the river. "I guess that makes it all the more fitting that Wayne never made it home from that ship he was on."

"You were chomping at the bit because your birthday wasn't until the end of November." The elder Gunn peered across the table at Pete, breaking the younger man's introspective silence. "You watched the rest of the boys head off one by one until your chance came and then you were waiting at the door when the office opened."

"Just the way things were, Pop."

"I know," the older man nodded. "Didn't make it any easier for your mom and me."

A lengthy silence was eventually broken by Frank Gunn. He gave Pete a shrewd look.

"Why didn't you tell us the girl stood you up?"

"I figured you'd be a lot more upset about it than I ended up being." The younger man's lips tilted in a little smile and he arched a quizzical eyebrow. "Which brings us back full circle to Bobby Wittenhouse."

Frank nodded. Somehow what he'd planned to say to Pete didn't seem quite as important anymore. And it was really none of his business to begin with. But Pete was still his son, still that boy he raised and who he loved more than any other human being in the world. So he went ahead and related the story of Bob Wittenhouse, who'd gotten engaged to Ed and Shirley Kirk's girl Cynthia six months after graduation. The boy had gotten cold feet somewhere along the line, Frank heard that directly from Ed Kirk, and had broken things off about a month later right before the draft board finally called his number. When he came home twelve months later both sets of parents thought the experience might have made more of a man of him, would have set him in the right direction, and at first they were of the opinion it had. Cynthia had waited on him, the engagement was back on and all seemed right in the world. Frank wasn't privy to exactly what happened after that. All he knew was that four months later the two got married. Another five months and a baby girl was added to the mix. And less than a year following that they were divorced.

"And the moral of that story is?" Pete figured he knew but he'd give his dad a chance to have his say. As he'd intimated earlier he'd known since the other night that Pop still had some things on his mind and some questions he wanted to ask. It wouldn't matter if Pete answered those questions or not, he knew the older man wanted to put them out there so he'd sit and listen and give him a chance to speak his mind if need be.

"Getting married because you get your girl pregnant is no way to start a life together."

Frank watched his son's face for a reaction to his comment but it sported one of those unreadable looks that made it difficult to tell whether he was angry, simply irritated or just embarrassed. Or none of the above. Pete was so hard to read sometimes. One of the things that made him so good at his job but so aggravating to a parent.

"My life with Edie started the first moment I saw her."

He sounded neither angry nor embarrassed. He sounded more like he was admitting to something that was beyond his control, that he didn't question, that just was. A thing that was so intense and overwhelming that he just accepted it without explanation.

"And while we don't plan on anything like that happening..." Pete continued in a steady tone, "... it wouldn't change things between us if it did. Might complicate things a little but it wouldn't change things." His mouth straightened in what passed for a smile. "But we're very conscientious when it comes to that, Pop. We don't leave anything to chance."

"You make sure? Every time?"

Pete couldn't believe they were having this discussion. Here he was, a thirty-three year old adult male who'd been on his own for close on sixteen years, held down an often dangerous job, had more life experience than most men twice his age, paid his bills on time and was kind to both children and animals. He'd been shot at more times than he wanted to remember, run off the road in his car, left beaten half senseless in alleys and threatened with bodily harm the likes of which he didn't like to even think about. And here his father was lecturing him on the birds and the bees. Something seemed terribly wrong with this picture.

"Every time," he nevertheless very solemnly assured his parent.

"Including the other night when I got home from Barney's and had to pick up the clothes scattered willy-nilly across the living room floor?" A vestige of embarrassment found its way through Pete's granite expression. Frank hadn't planned on mentioning that episode but couldn't seem to help himself. And he also knew he should feel bad that he'd made his son very obviously uncomfortable. On the other hand it tickled him in a strange sort of way that he was still able to do that. It provided him with a wonderful assurance that he was still the dad and Pete was still the little boy, however absurd that seemed. Pete rubbed a hand over his face and muttered something that Frank took as a yes.

"It's not that I'm averse to becoming a grandpa," he hurriedly said and Pete could tell he saw the ridiculousness of the situation. "As a matter of fact I can't wait for that day. It's just that us old codgers like it better when we see things run their normal and natural course. We tend not to fret over things quite so much."

"Uh huh." Pete didn't seem convinced but he let it go.

The quiet solitude that enveloped them for another few minutes was finally interrupted by noises from the direction of the kitchen followed by the appearance of a sleepy-eyed woman in search of coffee. She frowned at the empty carafe but perked up considerably upon hearing the men agree they had time for another pot, then gave a cheerful smile at Frank's reminder that she still owed him a game of chess which he didn't plan to leave town without. Ten minutes later the coffee was fresh, the chess board was aligned with pawns and such and two studious heads were bent over the game.

* * *

Frank Gunn glanced over at his son, an eyebrow quirking in amusement at the manner in which Pete's tall frame overshot the sofa he was lounging on. Then he returned his gaze to the blonde woman sitting on the floor across from him and a smile curled his lips. She had exchanged her black dress and bejeweled elegance for casual dark green pants and a wide-collared white cotton blouse that buttoned down the front. A wide silver and jade bracelet adorned her right wrist and she wore a watch with a thin silver band on the left. She liked to wear jewelry and it looked good on her, it was very feminine and womanly. He liked that and he could tell from the way Pete had gazed at her when she reappeared after her nap that he appreciated it too. There was just something to be said about a girl acting like a girl.

"You're being awfully quiet," he told Edie, breaking a silence that had outlasted itself.

Pete looked up and followed his dad's gaze with his own, smiling at the sight of his girl sitting on the floor between the coffee table and the chair, the look of concentration on her face amusing and sexy at the same time. She was paying absolutely no attention to him or Pop, her eyes instead riveted on the chess board. Twice she reached out to wrap her fingers around one of the white pawns, both times drawing her hand back without moving it.

"Mmmm..." the blonde absently hummed. Her gaze briefly lifted to Frank's and she gave him a mildly disapproving look for disturbing her concentration before she returned her attention to the board.

"Be careful, Pop. That's when she's at her most devious." Pete let the business section of yesterday evening's newspaper fall to his chest as he turned his full attention to the game at hand.

"Thanks for the warning, son."

Frank raised an eyebrow and made a sing-song noise as Edie again reached for one of the pawns. She paused and removed her fingers from the game piece.

"She has a competitive streak a mile wide," the PI continued.

"And you are _such_ a sore loser," she accused Pete, giving him an amused sideways look.

She finally made her move then leaned back against the chair and covered a yawn with her hand. She watched as Pop considered his options and then smiled smugly as the man began to tap his fingers on the table top. It took him a moment or two to make a decision but once he did he moved his knight without hesitation and captured Edie's remaining bishop. She frowned. That wasn't the move her adversary was supposed to make.

"Gets irritated when the little girl beats him does he?" Frank quizzed.

"Always," the blonde asserted. "He acts just like a little boy who doesn't get his way." She shot a smiling look at the man in question. "Not that I do it very often. At least not at chess," she amended. Frank had a feeling it wouldn't be long before that changed. She was very good for someone who had only been playing a short while.

It took Edie several very long minutes to make her next move. Finally she took a long-shot chance and reached across and moved her queen diagonally three squares. Frank stared and frowned and gave a short harrumph and began going through possible moves in his head. The blonde stifled another yawn as she gave him a glance and decided his expression when he played chess compared quite favorably to Pete's. One moment he displayed supreme confidence and the next he appeared ready to throw a tantrum. And just as with Pete, if she mentioned it he'd probably deny it with his last breath.

"Should we head to breakfast before you get too cocky and think you might actually win this game?" The elder Gunn spared a smiling glance for the young woman seated across from him. Then his narrowed gaze rested on his son as the younger man got up from the sofa.

Edie felt Pete's presence as he seated himself on the chair at her back and leaned forward to look over her shoulder at the board. His hands found her shoulders and began a gentle massage as she leaned back, his legs warm against her sides. His eyes followed his dad's move and he studied the layout of the other black and white game pieces before bending his dark head closer to the blonde's and whispering something into her ear.

"Hey, now! None of that." Frank frowned. "No cheating."

"I was just pointing out to her that when it comes to chess you're the equivalent of a pool hustler and she'd do well to take you up on your offer."

"We can finish," Frank vacillated sheepishly. "Three moves and the game's over anyway. And don't be talking about your old man that way."

"Mmhmm."

Pete murmured something only Edie could hear, the woman's eyes skipping across the chessmen as she listened. She reached across and moved her remaining knight and then watched Frank quickly slide his black bishop diagonally to capture her white rook. The blonde shot the PI a look of displeasure even as he motioned at the board and whispered a few words. Again the white knight was moved and again the older man reached for one of the black game pieces, moving it the requisite number of squares. Too late to take back the move he realized his mistake, his snort of disgust drowning out Edie's plaintive groan as in her mind Pete seemed to be playing right into his dad's hands. Frank snuck a glance at Edie and relaxed when it appeared she'd taken no notice of his self-castigation. He relaxed even further when Pete leaned back and motioned for the girl to make the next move, the younger man's gaze resting on her face as she considered the board. After a couple false starts and several long minutes of concentration her fingers touched upon her queen and she carefully moved it a couple spaces over, her attention shifting to Pete to test his reaction before releasing the piece. The elder Gunn made a face and fell back in his chair, watching Edie's face clear into a giddy grin as by his reaction it dawned on her that she'd just won the game. Well, technically Pete had won, but that was neither here nor there. It wasn't the most masterful of checks but there was no way around it. One more move, and there were few to be had, and the game would be finished, though not in the manner Frank had planned. He heaved a long sigh and reached and toppled his king, admitting defeat.

"What was that you said about three moves?" Pete cocked his head and held a cupped hand to his ear playfully.

* * *

After managing a quick breakfast at the Starlight Diner they made it to the airport with a little time to spare before Frank had to check in at the American Airlines counter. They found seats in the waiting area near his gate and sat for about twenty minutes, chatting about this and that and mainly ignoring the fact that he would shortly begin a trip that would return him the thousand miles he'd come two weeks ago. Glancing at the clock from time to time, watching its hands move along toward his appointed hour, Frank also found his gaze straying to the hands of the couple seated across from him. His son's right hand had found the young woman's left seemingly of its own accord, without conscious thought, his long fingers tangling easily with hers. The most natural thing in the world. A few more minutes passed then with a final quick glance at the time Frank turned his eyes to his son.

"How about doing your old man a favor and checking me in at the counter over there?" He took his ticket from the breast pocket of his shirt and handed it to Pete as they both got to their feet.

"Sure, Pop."

The PI could feel his dad's gaze on him as he grabbed the two suitcases and made his way through the now crowded waiting room. As he handed over the ticket he turned his head, watching as Edie got up from her seat and the two most important people in his life fiercely embraced. Even from this distance he could see Edie's eyes squeeze shut and could tell she was trying to hold back tears. He saw her fingers dig into the back of Pop's dark gray cardigan as the man pulled her close and said something.

"Regardless of the situation it was nice being here and finally getting to meet the woman who stole my son's heart," Frank murmured against Edie's hair. "I've always wondered what it would be like to have a daughter and now I know. And it makes me very happy." He pulled back and looked into her face, his hands gently grasping her arms. "I say that with all seriousness. I want you to know that and believe that and above all remember that."

"Thank you." Edie smiled as best she could through the tears that were threatening.

"I also want you to remember what I said at the hospital that first day," he reminded her. "If you need me for anything, for any reason, you call me. Okay? Even if its just to talk or to get something off your chest or to complain about something that big galoot over there said or did," he chuckled, motioning with his head toward Pete, who was now watching unabashedly from across the room. "He's a good son and a good man but even I know he can be a real pain in the patootie sometimes."

"A real _big_ pain," Edie nodded in agreement and made a face.

Frank reached for his canvas carry-on and took Edie's hand and led the way to the door with the Gate 5 sign above it. He released Edie's hand and held his own out toward Pete.

"Son." He awarded Pete a solemn gaze.

"Pop."

Pete's lips tilted in a little smile as he shook hands with his dad. Then Frank let his bag drop to the floor and pulled his son in for a hug, one big hand grasping the back of his neck.

"Hold on to one another and never let go, you hear me?" His voice was gruff in Pete's ear. "Take care of each other and always be there for one another. Love is precious, don't ever take it for granted. But do enjoy it." Frank stepped back and reached out his hand to give Pete a fatherly pat on the cheek. "You got that?"

"Yeah, Pop. I got it." His deep blue gaze flicked from his dad to Edie and back again.

"And be careful out there. You hear me? I know you're young yet and you think you're indestructible and invincible but you're not. You're only a man with a man's frailties and imperfections. You're only human. Remember that."

Pete nodded and watched the other man retrieve his carry-on from the floor.

"I'd really like the two of you to come for a visit at Thanksgiving or Christmas."

Frank fell into line behind a middle-aged woman in a pink suit, the younger man and the girl shuffling along next to him as he inched along toward the departure gate. It had been a while since father and son had spent any of the holidays together. Pete's suggestion of sometime in between was met with with a nod of agreement and a pat on the shoulder as they arrived at the gate. With a final hug and kiss on the cheek for Edie, and a whisper into her ear that there were presents for them in the downstairs closet, the elder Gunn disappeared through the door.

* * *

And now here he was sitting in Seat 14A next to a slightly snoring granny-type. Not that he should be thinking something that. He was old enough to be that type. Of the opposite gender of course. But it was obvious that there were a lot of years between him and the woman in the aisle seat. He idly wondered who she'd been visiting in Pete's city. Maybe her own kids.

Frank quietly pulled out the tray that was folded against the seatback in front of him, pulled a book from the carry-on he'd stashed beneath the same seat and then reached across to accept a steaming cup of black coffee from the pretty stewardess pushing the cart down the aisle. He glanced at the paperback which turned out to be one of the Max Brand westerns Lieutenant Jacoby had brought over. _The_ _Rancher's_ _Revenge_. He'd read most of Brand's books, including the entire Dr. Kildare series, but this one didn't ring a bell with him. When he got done with it he would put it in the mail to Pete or stash it in his "Pete" box to return to him when he and Edie visited. That thought brought a smile to his face. Leaning back in his seat he made himself comfortable again but instead of opening the book he sat and stared out the window, his mind returning to the goodbyes that had been said more than an hour ago. Within moments he was asleep.


	35. Chapter 35

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. I'd love to own Pete but I know that's an impossibility. His heart belongs to Edie and always will.**

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 35**

Pete wasn't sure what time it was but even without opening his eyes he could tell the sun was further along in its journey across the sky than it usually was when he and Edie got out of bed. The light against his closed lids was quite a bit brighter than normal and the temperature beneath the bed covers had risen in direct proportion. He would gladly toss the quilt to the side but for the quiet stillness of the woman lying next to him beneath the pretty blues and whites and yellows of the double wedding rings that Grandma Hart had so laboriously sewn together.

His eyes opened a crack and he peered into Edie's face. The side not buried in the pillow was flushed pink from contact with slim threads of afternoon sunlight slipping through the slats of the blinds. He wished she would wake up. Not because the heat of her body was uncomfortable or because the weight of her was restrictive. He just wanted to gaze into the confused barely-awake expression that she normally began the day with and that just happened to be his very favorite morning sight. On the other hand it had been after nine o'clock by the time they'd gotten home from the airport and managed to fall into bed. Pete couldn't recall when he had slept last. Not last night so it surely had to have been Sunday night. And the same went for Edie, her early morning nap notwithstanding. She needed the sleep. Mother wouldn't be too happy if she snored through her songs. He almost chuckled out loud as he remembered the time he actually told her she snored. Not real snores he'd finally assured her, just cute little snuffles, but she'd still been annoyed with him.

He gazed at her as she slumbered, his heart stopping then speeding up again when she shifted onto her back and unconsciously raised a hand to rub at her face and then let it fall to the pillow. When her breathing evened out again Pete carefully rolled onto his left side and slipped his arm around her waist, his chin barely touching her shoulder as he watched her sleep. Her blonde hair was sleep-tousled, her eyelashes were perfect arcs against her cheeks, her lips were just asking to be kissed. His eyes traced the outline of her breasts where the top two buttons of her blue cotton pajamas had come undone, lingered on the delicate curve of her neck and eventually settled on the barely visible pulse throbbing rhythmically in the hollow of her throat. He knew he should get up, should wake her up, should begin getting both of them ready for the day. But at that very moment he had neither the energy nor the will to move, but was simply content to be where he was with the woman he loved.

Pete eventually dozed off again only to be awakened by the strident ring of the telephone, his mind coming fully to attention at the sound of Pop's voice saying he was home. He reported that he had slept most of the way to Chicago but that the leg of the flight from Chicago to Des Moines hadn't been anything he'd write home about, the lady in the next seat having spilled her cup of hot coffee all over his pants and the first thirty pages of _The_ _Rancher's_ _Revenge_ when they had hit some turbulence. The PI's attention wavered between his dad and Edie, watching as she drowsily pushed herself to one elbow and following her gaze as she peered around him at the alarm clock. Her eyes widened and she was suddenly fully awake, clambering over him and grabbing for her robe as her bare feet hit the floor. It was almost four-thirty in the afternoon and she was supposed to be at Mother's by six. Hearing the shower come on as his brief conversation with his dad ended, Pete slipped into the bathroom to wash the sleep from his eyes and then headed downstairs. By the time Edie meandered her way to the kitchen, face aglow from the hot water of the shower and her freshly washed hair almost dry after a furious scrubbing with a bath towel, a light meal of eggs scrambled with some leftover vegetables, toast and coffee had been set on the breakfast bar. They enjoyed their meal in companionable silence for the most part, exchanging a word or two here and there, hands brushing and lingering, she in a fluffy pink robe and he in his red and white striped boxers.

A short while later, after they'd eaten and their few dishes and utensils were washed and put away, the pretty blonde woman listened as the good looking dark-haired man read aloud from the headlines of the morning paper. She glanced over at him as she buttoned up her powder blue blouse, pausing as she slipped the final white mother of pearl button into its designated hole. Pete was settled against the iron headboard of the big queen-size bed, lounging atop the rumpled coral pink sheets and Grandma Hart's double wedding ring quilt. It made a fine picture and had her wishing she had Frank Gunn's snazzy new camera handy, but when Pop left so had the camera. So she just admired the view and saved it to memory. She stood there so long and so quietly that Pete finally looked up from the _News_ _Standard_.

"Would you rather I bore you with the stock quotes?" He gave her one of those amazing Pete Gunn smirks that always turned her heart upside down and then let his gaze wander up and down her form, the knowing intimacy in his expression tugging at her insides and speeding her pulse. "That's a fetching outfit," the man teased.

His amused blue eyes smiled at her bare legs and feet and he watched as she grabbed her dark blue cotton slacks from the hanger and draped them over the bedroom chair before approaching the bed. Almost before he knew it she was sideways on his lap, her arms circling his neck, grinning at him like a little girl who had been given a favorite piece of candy. Pete tossed the newspaper aside and wrapped his arms around her waist, his head drawing back a little as he raised an eyebrow and continued his flirtatious perusal. He let his gaze stray to the nightstand to check the clock.

"Time's not standing still," he warned. "You know how Emmett gets when the gang's not all there on time to rehearse."

His words said one thing and his actions another as he brought her in closer, his grasp tightening, his right hand palming the back of her neck as he leaned in to kiss her at first lightly then with a familiar passion. Her hands went to his head, her fingers weaving into his hair as she held him there, remaining where they were when he finally drew back. He allowed his hand to trail along her leg, his gaze following along with his fingers as they skimmed the silky skin. Edie smoothed his hair and allowed one hand to linger along his chest as her right arm resettled around his shoulders.

"I suppose you're right," she admitted with a dramatic sigh. Her eyes studied his face as she became thoughtful and suddenly changed the course of the conversation. "It seems quiet without your dad here. I keep waiting to hear him clanging around in the kitchen or carrying on some deep philosophical discussion with the cat."

The PI grunted an acknowledgment then smiled. He reached and brought her face closer to his and gave her a soft kiss.

"I kinda like it."

He captured her lips in another kiss that had a little more behind it and this time it was the blonde who eventually brought an end to it. She gave his cheek a pat then slid from his lap. Pete watched as she finished dressing and combed her hair into some semblance of order that took only minutes but made it appear she'd been to a professional. As many times as he had watched her do that he could still never figure out how she made it happen. It was especially amazing considering her hair was still in that stage between the short style she'd had it cut to earlier in the year and the shoulder length style that she had it in prior to that. They kept up a steady conversation the whole while, talking about some nonsensical things as well as what his plans might be for the evening and tonight while she was working. Edie made no comment but narrowed her eyes as Pete hemmed and hawed and said he wasn't really sure what he might be doing but he would think of something to keep himself busy. She finished her makeup and put on a pair of earrings and a necklace and a wide gold bracelet on her right wrist then headed back downstairs with the man at her heels. A lingering kiss later Edie was out the back door with the car keys in her hand and a freshly dry-cleaned dress over one arm. She turned to blow Pete another kiss as she stepped into the stairway leading down to the garage, her bright smile the last thing he saw as the door closed.

* * *

Eddie Webb shifted his cab into park and watched in the rear view mirror as Peter Gunn opened the door and stepped out onto the curb. Stretching his arm along the back of the seat, he leaned his big frame toward the passenger-side window as the PI bent down to look in at him, his eyes scrutinizing the face of the tall man in the dark gray suit.

"About how long do you think you'll be, Pete?" The burly cabby glanced at the watch on his left wrist. "The shop'll be closing up in about thirty minutes. I can hang around here or run up to Nic's for supper if you think you're gonna be that long."

"Half an hour sounds fine, Eddie." Pete reached into his pants pocket and brought out a folded ten dollar bill which he handed through the open window. "Steak's on me. Smitty won't throw me out if you're a little late."

He gave a couple raps to the roof of cab 2052 with the palm of his hand then turned and stepped across the sidewalk and pulled open the door of Smith Brothers Gun Shop. The tinkle of the little bell above the door announced his presence and brought a wiry middle aged man with wire-rimmed glasses out of a back room. Kent 'Smitty' Smith, co-owner of the shop along with his brother Ronnie, greeted the private investigator in the manner of one who'd known the other for a good many years then led the way to the sales desk. He reached down and brought out a half dozen handguns and carefully placed them one by one on the counter.

"After you called I went through my inventory and picked out a few I thought you might be interested in." The shopkeeper took a couple boxes of ammunition down from a shelf behind him. "There are two that are manufactured exclusively for women and the others are basically the same as you carry. They're all thirty-eights just like you asked." Bushy eyebrows were raised quizzically as Smitty placed his elbows on the counter and leaned toward Pete. "You sure she'll be able to handle that caliber? Might be easier to start her out with a twenty-two and work up to the thirty-eight."

"It's not a case of her being able to handle it. She'll be fine." Pete examined each pistol individually, turning them over in his hands and inspecting the barrels and chambers. He gave his friend a thin smile. "It's more a case of getting her to agree to keep it and learn how to use it. And you and I both know a twenty-two is next to worthless when you need it the most."

Memories of Pauly Denner talking about watching Edie entering his apartment building with Lieutenant Jacoby, about how he planned to pay her a visit, continually intruded on Pete's thoughts and invaded his dreams.

 _I'll wait til you're dead and gone and things have blown over. Then I'll pay her a visit, offer my condolences..._

Denner's words kept playing over and over in his mind, and though he knew the man was gone for good he was also aware there were plenty more like him out there. Most thugs had some modicum of decency when it came to women but there were always those who had no scruples. Those like Denner. Or like Max Grayco, who had gone to the extreme of sending a couple of his hired goons to _Mother's_ to shoot Edie just to get his attention. Thinking back on it Pete decided he probably should have taken the initiative at that point and bought a gun for her and taught her how to use it. But what was past was past, this was the here and now, and he was going to make up for that lapse.

"I'm not looking for something she'd carry around in her purse," the PI continued, giving careful final consideration to the handguns his friend had provided. "She hardly ever has a purse with her anyway. I want her to have some type of protection for when she's home by herself."

Pete finally decided on a blue steel thirty-eight caliber revolver almost identical to the one he himself carried, reckoning that teaching Edie to use a comparable weapon would have its advantages, and also requested a trigger guard and a safety box. He pulled some cash from his right pants pocket and peeled away several large bills and handed them to Smitty and then began filling out a couple forms the shop owner slid across the counter at him. At five minutes past ten, after hearing all about the new firing range the Smith brothers had opened and being told to take Edie by any time to teach her how to shoot – "Call beforehand, Pete. If it's after hours or closed for one reason or another you can get the key from me or Ronnie" – Pete shook hands with the shopkeeper and followed him outside as he locked up.

* * *

Sitting slumped behind the steering wheel of his cab, his belly full of the quick supper of steak and fried potatoes he'd eaten at Nic's Diner, Eddie Webb directed his gaze at the big window bearing the logo of the Ashley Florist. Inside the shop Pete was talking to the owner, his right hand dipped casually in the deep pocket of his pants, the fingers of his left hand fiddling with some sort of pink flowers sitting in a crystal vase on the counter. Old Mr. Ashley nodded and said something and nodded again. He picked a pad from the counter and lifted a pencil from behind his right ear and began to write then turned and called toward the back room. Out came his youngest daughter, pretty tow-headed Betsy Ashley, who stepped to the counter and smiled brightly at the tall broad-shouldered PI.

The cabby could see the girl give Pete the once-over even from where he sat at the curb. He heaved a sigh and shook his head. Surely she knew Peter Gunn had a girl. Everybody in town knew that, right? He himself knew all about Miss Edie Hart even though he had never met her. He'd seen her though, on any number of occasions when he'd picked up a fare in front of Mother's and she happened to be coming or going. Sometimes she was with Pete, on a few occasions she'd been waiting on the sidewalk with one of the other girls who worked there, the last several times she'd been by herself or in the company of the bartender fellow or a light-haired man. And she was pretty as could be. He knew his friend – yes, Pete was one fellow he considered a friend, they'd known each other a long time and had helped each other out in their own unique ways – was far from interested in catching the eye of some lovelorn woman looking for excitement. And Betsy Ashley should know better.

Eddie chuckled to himself as the PI politely ignored the young woman after giving her a brief smile, his attention on Rupert Ashley as the older man scribbled notes and made a side comment now and then to his daughter. The two men appeared to come to a mutual agreement about whatever discussion they were having and Pete nodded and began to move toward the door. As Eddie turned the key in the ignition he saw the man abruptly turn on his heel and motion to the flowers he'd been admiring on the counter. Then he dug in his pocket for some paper bills and separated a few and handed them to the man, waving off the change due him. He arrived back at the cab with the crystal vase and the cabby saw that the flowers it contained were not just the pink he'd initially noticed but white and powder blue and light yellow too. Eddie didn't know what they were called, he couldn't tell a rose from a daisy, but he decided they sure were nice and had a feeling the PI's pretty blonde girlfriend would think so too. He glanced in the rear view mirror as Pete pulled the car door shut.

"Mother's?" he asked, a knowing smile curling his lips as he watched the other man nod and settle himself tiredly against the seat. His shifted gears with a beefy right hand and pulled the cab away from the curb, making a quick u-turn to point himself in the right direction. A few minutes later he pulled to the River Street corner outside the club and shifted into park and checked the meter as he waited for his friend to collect himself and exit the cab. When the PI made no move to do so Eddie glanced over his shoulder at him then followed his gaze to a black hardtop sitting parked across the street. He recognized it as an unmarked police cruiser. After a moment or two of consideration his passenger told him that on second thought he'd just head home.

* * *

Lieutenant Jacoby removed his hat, slowly scanning Mother's with what Pete commonly referred to as his beady little eyes until his gaze found Edie Hart at the far end of the bar. A soft drink bottle was on the counter next to her elbow and she was chatting with one of the waitresses, a nice looking dark haired girl named Wendy, while Barney pretended not to listen in on their conversation. With a final glance around the smoke-filled room the cop sauntered casually over to the corner where the two women were occupying themselves during a lull in the night's activity.

"Mind if I sit here?"

The blonde glanced up at him and after a moment's hesitation gave what appeared to be a somewhat tentative nod. The waitress straightened up from her relaxed position on the other side of the bar, giving him a polite smile and asking if she could get him anything.

The Lieutenant requested a cup of coffee with two sugars, feeling a sudden craving for something sweet, then placed his hat on the bar and settled himself on the tall stool next to Edie. He leaned his forearms on the counter and clasped his hands and watched as the other girl set his coffee in front of him.

"How's Pete doing?" Jacoby asked, opening the conversation with a neutral subject. He could feel Edie's curious gaze on his face as he took a sip of hot coffee and grimaced at the cloying sweetness mixed with the bitterness of the grounds.

"He seems to be coming along fine," she answered, volunteering the information that the PI had a follow-up appointment with Dr. Joe Carson the next afternoon. "Hopefully he'll give him his medical release."

"Pete will be glad." Jacoby tried to keep his tone from sounding too stilted.

"He will. He's getting restless." The woman sounded like she was doing the same.

"He's not real good at sitting still." He snuck a quick glance at the stage as the musicians switched to a new song with a slower beat. It was something he didn't remember hearing before.

"At least not when he's told to," Edie agreed, a smile coloring her voice.

The policeman took another long drink from his cup then turned his face toward her. He gave her a really good look and decided she appeared tired. And she undoubtedly was. It had been a long three weeks since the night Pete had gone missing, an unsettling couple of weeks since they'd been fortunate enough to find him back. The seven or eight weeks prior to that hadn't been a bed of roses for her either. Somewhere back when this had all started, maybe a day or two before they'd rescued Pete, he had told Edie that he wished he'd been a better friend when she and Pete had been apart. And again somewhere along the line, only days later, he had somehow forgotten that and had acted toward her in a manner he'd instantly regretted, had uttered a very poor choice of words that had racked him with guilt ever since. Surely he was more of a friend than that to both her and Pete. Wasn't he?

"Look, Edie..." He fiddled with the handle of the coffee cup, his brown gaze resting on it for a moment before he looked back at the woman. "I know words don't come anywhere close to making up for the things I said to you the other day but I want you to know I'm very sorry for everything I did say. I didn't mean any of it, you need to know that. I was just-" He gave a helpless shrug. "I was scared. Same as you. I've been friends with Pete for a long time, ten or eleven years now. That's a lifetime in my line of work." A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "If I said I was just as afraid of losing him as you were I would be putting our relationship with him on the same level and I know very well that's not the case. But please believe when I say I was very much afraid and I let my emotions get the better of me."

She was quiet for so long that he began to wonder if she was going to say anything, her eyes searching his face in a manner that made him want to squirm. He had seen her give Pete that same look on a couple occasions and had found it vastly amusing. Never again. The PI would calmly attempt to out-stare her but he himself didn't have that gumption. He could physically feel beads of sweat popping out on his forehead and wished he still had his hat on because he was certain the blonde could sense his discomfort. His fingers tightened on the handle of his coffee cup and he was about to raise it to his lips, solely to break the spell her gaze seemed to have trapped him in, but Barney was suddenly there topping off the coffee with some fresh brew.

"Everything okay, Edie?"

The bartender didn't appear to be looking anywhere in particular and neither did Mother, whose tall rangy frame the policeman could sense in his peripheral vision. But he had a feeling they were both keeping an eye on this end of the bar. He obviously wasn't out of the woods as far as the denizens of Mother's were concerned and he guessed he couldn't blame them and had a feeling it would be that way for a while.

Edie's blue-eyed glance landed on her friend as she gave him a reassuring nod then she shifted her gaze back to the policeman. Jacoby decided the soft curve of her lips could be taken for a smile if he squinted hard enough and held his tongue just right and tilted his head to the left.

"Pete means a lot to both of us," the woman finally observed, breaking the lengthy silence.

"Yes he does." Jacoby felt himself relax at the soft tone of her voice, but just a smidgen.

"I know I said several things to you that weren't very nice either," she admitted.

"I don't remember any of those things," the cop quietly denied.

"Maybe I just thought them," the blonde mused, lifting her Coke and taking a long sip through the red and white striped straw as she eyed the Lieutenant's impassive face.

He decided to refrain from comment to keep from digging himself into another hole. The atmosphere had lightened somewhat and he was glad for that, the almost hidden hint of amusement in Edie Hart's eyes causing him to breathe a little bit easier. His relationship with her had always been an uneasy one at best so he figured if they could just get back to that prior sense of discomfiture then things between himself and this woman of Pete's would sort themselves out.

A quirky beat from the conga drums had Edie glancing over the crowd toward the stage and pushing her empty pop bottle in Barney's direction. Jacoby slid from his stool as the girl singer stood, watching as she slipped her feet into the black high-heeled sandals she had discarded during her break. Then she gave him a nod and a smile, not the big bright smile she reserved for a certain private investigator nor the sunny one she offered most everyone else, but something hesitant and on the somber side. But a smile nevertheless. He picked up his hat and settled it atop his head, adjusting the brim until the fit felt just right, then stood and watched for a few minutes as the musicians played and the blonde sang and then he left the building as silently as he'd entered.

* * *

Edie entered the apartment and shut the door behind her as quietly as she could, the soft click of the deadbolt and the rasp of the chain sliding into place the only sounds worth speaking of. The living room was dark save for the lamp beside the couch and that was where she found Pete, sprawled along its length in his pajamas and robe, the orange cat curled up on his legs and a book face down on his chest. _The Secret of the Caves_. The Hardy Boys? Where in the world did he get that? She smiled indulgently and removed the book from his lax grasp and laid it on the coffee table. Her eyes widened at the sight of the pretty crystal vase and the big bouquet of fresh carnations that had been placed in the center of the low table. A small pale blue sheet of paper, folded in half, was placed among the uppermost blooms and she lifted it out and opened it and read the scrawled words. And she smiled.


	36. Chapter 36

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. I'd love to own Pete but I know that's an impossibility. His heart belongs to Edie and it always will.**

 _Many thanks to Melchy for allowing me to bounce ideas off her and for answering my questions and especially for giving me her advice, even when she didn't know she was doing it!_

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 36**

Dropping his pen to the low table that he'd pulled close to his knees, Lieutenant Jacoby leaned back and stretched cramped muscles then laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. He grimaced at the sound and glanced furtively around, hoping no one had noticed, but none of the other half dozen souls occupying the third floor waiting room of St. Francis Hospital paid him any mind. A weary sigh escaped his lips and he let his gaze wander, deciding he'd spent more time in this waiting room over the past several weeks than he cared to think about. His gaze fell to the report he was working on and his blunt fingers tapped a haphazard rhythm on the arm of his chair. He undoubtedly should have gone back to the precinct to write out his notes but this corner with the window behind him and a potted tree next to him gave him some quiet privacy he wouldn't be able to find in his office at this time of day.

The metallic whoosh of the elevator doors gliding open brought the policeman's eyes up again and he watched a small stream of people disembark and head in various directions. Deciding he really needed to be on that elevator one of the next few times it headed back down to the lobby he grabbed his pen to fill in the remaining blank spots in his report, so intent on completing his task that he almost missed seeing the final two occupants step out and stroll toward the nurses station. His dark gaze followed the couple and he idly wondered at the nondescript bag the woman carried and the tissue-wrapped bundle the man seemed to hold out of sight behind his back. Jacoby gave himself a mental shake and began to gather his things together. Pen in his right breast pocket, paperwork folded neatly down the middle and shoved into the inside pocket of his brown suit, he lifted his hat from the chair beside him and went to stand next to the now closed elevator doors. He needed to see Pete, had to mention something he'd been remiss to bring up Monday evening – he still needed a statement from the PI so the case could be closed as far as the police investigation was concerned.

Bennie Marconi had been transferred to the State Prison that very morning though there were several court proceedings still pending against him on charges unrelated to the Peter Gunn case. As Jacoby had previously informed the detective, Marconi would be spending a long stretch behind bars. Joe DeVito would go to trial for making false statements, concealing evidence and being an accessory after the fact in the murder of Eleanora White six years ago unless he and his attorney, Egan Leopold, accepted a plea deal from the DA's office, which the District Attorney was pushing. DeVito also faced numerous charges relating to the Gunn case. Leopold himself was facing time in jail, a hefty fine and possible disbarment proceedings for harassment and tampering. But those were all responsibilities of the court system. Official closure of the police investigation was all Jacoby was concerned about. That rested with having on file an official statement bearing Peter Gunn's signature.

The Lieutenant absently straightened his necktie, stuck his right hand into the pocket of his loose-fitting suit jacket and leaned back against the cream colored wall and waited, his patient gaze unobtrusively following Peter Gunn and Edie Hart up the hallway. He watched as they stopped at the nurses station, saw Mrs. Henry finally lift her head after making a lengthy notation on some paperwork, gave a rueful smile and an amused wag of his head as the bundle the PI carried was magically transformed into a large bouquet of pink, white and yellow roses. Jacoby absently tapped the hat he held in his left hand against his pants leg, his smile lingering as he watched his friend touch the hand of the blonde where she held the bag, reaching in as she opened it and producing a big box of what looked to be Whitman's Chocolates. Wilma Henry's smile was bright and wide as she shook her head at the PI and then the little redheaded Betty Miles was there too, her green eyes widening under arched brows as she handed the older nurse a vase from the cabinet and watched as the flowers filled it. It took no time at all for the lid to fly off the box of candy. Jacoby chuckled and lifted his gaze to find Pete staring at him from where he leaned against the counter. The PI straightened and made a comment to the women that brought light laughter then turned and walked in the policeman's direction.

* * *

Mr. Johnson's chart was all wrong, the times backwards and the medication doses just about unreadable, the scrawl of that new intern looking no better than the scratches of a chicken. Must be they'd started teaching that nowadays in medical school, Mrs. Henry thought in disgust. It was the young ones that were so bad at it. How were her nurses expected to get anything done right if they couldn't read what they were supposed to be doing? She finally gave up and slid the chart to one side, determined to catch the fellow when he came past on his next round, and picked what she knew to be something with nuts and caramel from the candy box. The morning had been a busy one, beginning in the still dark hours when three wounded suspects had been transported to the hospital following a botched robbery attempt at the First Mercantile Bank. She'd heard one of the men died shortly after the ambulance crew brought him in, the other two had undergone surgery and been brought upstairs. That quiet Lieutenant Jacoby had been wandering the halls ever since, talking to the suspects when their conditions allowed while at the same time keeping watch over the officers who were keeping watch over the suspects. He hadn't passed by the desk in a while but she'd had an inkling he was lurking somewhere nearby, proving herself correct when their handsome visitor excused himself to go say a word to the policeman who was guarding the elevator. She allowed her eyes to follow him down the hall, thinking to herself that he really did look nice in that charcoal gray suit and crisp white shirt.

Snitching yet another chocolate, the ever-so-slightly plump Mrs. Henry got herself situated on her chair and exchanged a smile with Betty Miles, then turned her gaze to the other pretty young nurse who had stopped by to clock out before heading home for the day. Lauren Taylor, who had deep auburn hair and lots of freckles to go along with her happy demeanor, was the 4th floor night shift supervisor at City Hospital, another of the three medical facilities the town boasted. She happened to be working part of today's shift for one of the St. Francis nurses who was out with an early season case of influenza. It also turned out she was a girlfriend of Miss Edie Hart. Small world Mrs. Henry decided, itching for another piece of chocolate but managing to control herself. Her smile made a return as Peter Gunn sauntered back and stopped next to the blonde.

The private investigator stuck his right hand in his pants pocket and casually leaned an elbow on the counter. He nodded at Lauren, a little smile tilting his lips as he gave half an ear to what she and Edie were discussing and the other half to Mrs. Henry, who was rambling on about the pretty flowers – "They really brighten up the place, don't they?" – and the candy – "You do know what they say," she reminded him with twinkling eyes. "You can't buy happiness but you can buy chocolate, and that's kind of the same thing." Pete confessed the big box of Whitman's was Edie's idea, she'd suggested it when they stopped at the florist to pick up the flowers he'd ordered the previous night.

"I like a man who listens to a woman," Wilma Henry smiled.

She and Miss Miles assured him neither the flowers nor the candy had been necessary but they appreciated the thought, as would the rest of the staff. And they listened and their smiles widened as Pete explained that he just wanted to express his thanks for what everyone had done for him during those six days he'd been in the room across the hall. For what they'd done for Edie and his dad. He knew their professional code of ethics prohibited him from doing much more, and that a few flowers and a box of chocolates would never be enough to repay the debt he owed them, but he did want them to know he very much appreciated their care and the excellent treatment they'd provided. Pete glanced at Edie as she stood beside him. Her face was turned to his, one of those smiles he could look at forever coloring her lips and taking over the cornflower blue of her eyes, the expression on her face one that he only ever saw when she looked at him. No one else, only him. Then she looked away and she added her thanks on top of his and he was certain he saw her lips tremble with her words before she impulsively hugged plump gray-haired Mrs. Henry and pretty green-eyed Miss Miles.

Pete gave a look at the clock on the wall and then out of habit glanced at the Timex on his wrist. He reached for Edie's hand, wrapping his larger one around it where it rested on the counter and lacing his fingers through hers, and told her they should probably be on their way if he wanted to be on time for his appointment up the street at the facility where Dr. Carson's practice was located. He stood waiting with patient amusement as she again tilted her blonde head toward Lauren Taylor and the two engaged in a low-voiced conversation. He didn't have the strength to pull his gaze away from his girl's face even when the auburn-haired nurse smiled at him over Edie's shoulder and told him he looked much better than he had the last time she'd seen him. Edie had mentioned to him that Lauren had come by the hospital several times to check on him and to visit with her for a while as she sat at his bedside. His eyes finally found Lauren's saucy gaze and he said as much to the young woman.

"She told me I spoke to you a couple times. I'm sorry I don't remember."

"I'm not surprised." Her smile widened as she slipped her hands into the wide pockets of her white uniform dress. "I saw that goose egg on the back of your head and it wasn't a pretty sight." She chuckled lightly as he unthinkingly reached to touch the spot and gave a little grimace at the tenderness that remained. She looked at Edie again, still a little shy around the other woman's boyfriend whom she'd been acquainted with for only a few months. Edie Hart was a different story altogether. She couldn't be shy around her if she tried. "Should I call you about next weekend?"

"Let me call you. I need to check with June to see what her schedule looks like. I know Sheila won't have a problem with either day." The pretty blonde pointedly ignored her male companion's suddenly narrowed gaze, keeping her attention focused on her friend. "I'm not sure I can talk Lynn into coming but I'll try."

"You're sure I won't be in the way?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Edie told the other girl, waving away her doubts. "You've already met Sheila. June is just as nice but a lot quieter and I know you'll like her. Just don't let on that she's the reason we're all getting together." She leaned in to whisper those last words, hoping Pete didn't overhear but knowing better. "Lynn is somewhere in between the other two personality-wise. But I'll have to work to get her to join us. Even after all the time that's passed she's still not at the point where she wants to socialize very much."

The auburn-haired nurse have a smile that turned cheeky as she watched the handsome PI give her friend's hand a tug and tell her to stop gossiping, they needed to get going or he'd be late, pulling her in the direction of the elevator even as she was trying to finish her train of conversation. Edie turned with a wave as she trotted along beside Pete and mouthed a silent "I'll call you."

* * *

Peter Gunn heaved a contented sigh as he moved around the bedroom and changed from his suit and tie into comfortable tan slacks, a short-sleeved checked shirt and a dark blue vee-neck sweater-vest that buttoned down the front. Looking down at his sock-clad feet he decided to forego shoes, curling his toes childishly into the carpet before chuckling at his own behavior and padding quietly down the stairs, his thoughts returning to his visit with with the doctor.

Joe Carson had poked at his ribs and prodded his kidneys, looked in his ears, shined his little flashlight into his eyes and probed the back of his head. He had tested his reflexes with the tap of a rubber hammer below his knee and with several different sized tongue depressors had checked his gag reflex. That hadn't been much fun. He'd made him read an eye chart and follow the tip of a pencil with his eyes without moving his head and squint at the very smallest lines of a medical textbook and even had him read some of the words, most of which he didn't know the meaning of much less how to pronounce. He had been made to walk a straight line heel to toe and then stand with his eyes closed and extend the forefinger of each hand to touch his nose. Still with his eyes shut he had been given several objects – which turned out to be a cotton ball and a paint brush – and was told to describe what they felt like. When Carson asked him to make faces Pete had begun to feel a little ridiculous. But he'd smiled and frowned and grimaced and winked as the doctor instructed, being advised it was to test whether his facial muscles had been affected by his head injury, and tried to avoid Edie's laughing eyes and her attempts to hide a smile at his contortions. He supposed he might have overdone his face-making to amuse her. Just a little.

Following that tomfoolery Dr. Carson began asking detailed questions, waiting for his replies before looking to Edie for confirmation from where she sat next to Pete on the little brown couch in the exam room. Carson said he wanted honest answers. Was Pete feeling any anxiety? How about depression? Was he getting enough sleep or too much sleep or was he having problems sleeping? Pete admitted he'd been having nightmares. Had he been irritable or confused? The PI said no. Edie mentioned that he'd been fidgety for the past few days but that was normal for Mr. Peter Gunn. She'd be concerned if he wasn't. Any dizziness, nausea or vomiting? Not since the first day he'd been home. He still had headaches that came and went but they weren't as bad as they'd been and his concentration was much improved.

Seemingly happy with the responses he received, Carson had cleared him to return to normal activities but suggested he continue to take it easy for another couple of weeks where his work was concerned. He wasn't to take on anything that might overtax him mentally or that might cause undue physical exertion. Or get him beaten to a pulp, shot at, knocked senseless, run off the road, hit over the head with a whiskey bottle or taken for a long walk off a short pier. Those weren't Carson's exact words but they might as well have been. Dr. Gregory Stewart, his personal physician whose office was in the same building and with whom he had visited directly after, made certain he'd follow those instructions by scheduling a follow-up for the PI in two weeks. Both physicians told Pete he could drive as long as it didn't strain his eyes or give him a headache.

Despite vehement protests on his part and some strategic attempts to grab it from her hand, Edie managed to hang onto the car key and drove them home. They'd stopped at _The_ _Home_ _Made_ _Ice_ _Cream_ _Shop_ on the way, Edie having a Whitehouse Cherry Vanilla cone while he opted for Chocolate Marshmallow. They sat at a table for two next to the big window, talking and people-watching and sharing bites of each others cones. When they exchanged them the first time the little boy sitting with his mother at the next table had howled in disgust and made a face that rivaled anything Pete had attempted for Dr. Carson. Edie had smiled his favorite smile and laughed. The sunlight touched her hair through the window and turned it to sparkling gold and her face glowed and Pete smiled too and didn't look away until he felt the stickiness of the vanilla ice cream melting and running down to cover his fingers. She'd just smiled wider and laughed harder. They'd quickly finished their cones and retrieved the half gallon container of Neapolitan that Milly Donavan had kept for them in the little freezer behind the counter, finally finding themselves back at the apartment at four-thirty.

He found Edie in the living room studying the take-out and delivery menus that were kept in the drawer closest to the telephone. She was wearing his robe that she'd thrown on to wear until the time came that she had to leave for work. The PI moved to stand behind her, his hands finding her hips for just a moment, then his arms slipped around her waist and he pulled her against his chest. He leaned his chin on her shoulder and placed a light kiss against his favorite spot on her neck and gave a glance at the menu she was perusing.

"What are you in the mood for?" The blonde breathed a contented sigh and allowed her head to fall back against his shoulder as his lips played with her ear and his warm breath flirted with her cheek.

"That depends." His voice was a rough rumble in her ear and she felt his smile against her skin. She turned so she faced him and looped her arms around his neck, the menus still clutched in her fingers. The PI tightened his embrace and his eyes gazed teasingly into hers. "What did you have in mind?"

"Pete..." She smiled against the kiss he silenced her with and found it difficult to let go when he eventually relinquished her lips to place a sedate peck on her nose. "Food," she reluctantly murmured, her arms falling from around his neck as she leaned back in his embrace and gave the menus another look. "Just food." She squinted at the tri-fold bill of fare from _Guido's_.

"The story of my life," Pete complained goodnaturedly. He glanced over her shoulder as she continued her perusal of the menus, his blue gaze falling on the extra-large pink gift bag adorned with black and gray poodles that had been placed in the center of the coffee table. The bag came dangerously close to matching those bath towels Edie was so fond of, making him consider whether he wanted to know what was inside. His curiosity got the better of him and he asked. He performed a remarkably good imitation of Edie's eye roll upon learning there were presents that Pop had left for them.

"He just can't help himself," Pete sighed with resignation. "The last time he was here he left me his – " He stopped himself in the nick of time.

"His what?" Edie asked when he didn't continue. It was her turn to be curious. She knew it had been almost three years since the elder Gunn had visited, well before she and Pete had met. Nothing he might have given to his son at that time could have any bearing on their life that would bring about that reticence from Pete. Could it?

"Nothing." He waved off her question and sidetracked her with another kiss. "Just some silly thing."

He'd come close to blurting out something he didn't want her to know about. Not yet anyway, but someday. And if he _had_ said the words she would have wanted to know where it was, and he couldn't tell her that either. He guessed he should just be glad Pop hadn't asked about it when he was here. Pete hoped she'd just forget about it. But Edie Hart could be a tenacious little thing when she set her mind on it. Placing his hands on her hips he turned her in the direction of the phone.

" _Guido's_ sounds good to me."

He suggested she call in their order while he unloaded the gift bag. It was big and looked bulky and knowing Pop it was packed to the gills with things they didn't need but that he wanted them to have. Pete was halfway prepared for the eclectic blend Frank Gunn most likely left behind but now that Pop had a 'daughter' to buy for there was no telling what they might find in the pretty pink poodle-decorated bag. Between mouth-watering bites of Guido's famous Italian meatloaf drenched in his secret sauce, and nibbles from the big sampler plate he'd sent along, they took stock of what Pop had decided they couldn't live without and wondered when he'd had time to shop for the items. Edie decided he was as sneaky as his son.

There were three sets of Springmaid sheets. One was a pretty cream color with a band of dark brown edging and solid brown pillowcases. The second was white with pink edging and sported a pattern of little pink flowers. The pillowcases were in the same style minus the flowers. Pete's eyebrows went up and his eyes widened at the final set, a soft linen in a pattern of pea green, dark blue and white zig-zags, the pillowcases the same pattern on one side and dark blue on the other. While he'd had reservations upon seeing the flowery pink and white sheets, he decided Pop had definitely outdone himself with this last set. Pete glanced up at Edie, the pensive look on her face not what he was expecting as she contemplated the sheets. She looked up as he remained silent, catching the question in his eyes.

"Penny?"

"I'm really going to miss your dad."

"He's going to miss you too." He leaned forward to place a soft kiss on her forehead, his lips lingering.

"Pete?"

"Hmmm?" Somewhat reluctantly he drew away.

"Did you tell him about us?" she finally asked, gauging his expression as she spoke, her gaze dropping to the vibrantly hued sheets as she ran her hand over the plastic wrapping that held them.

"He's known about us almost as long as _we've_ known about us," Pete teased.

"No, I don't mean like that. He never once hesitated over or questioned the fact that we share the same bed. I really thought he might mention it or sit us down and explain why that might not be considered proper. But he didn't seem to find it too terribly awkward that we sleep together."

The man's lips twitched as he set his empty plate aside and took a sip of grape juice, watching as Thomas crawled out from beneath a chair to take a whiff of the remaining sauce but being put off by the aroma left behind by the garlic bread. His tail performed one of its puffing acts and he quickly disappeared into the kitchen to find some kibble.

"Says the woman who didn't have the pleasure of sitting through his sex talk after we came home from Mother's the other morning."

The blonde's eyes got big as she stared at him then narrowed suspiciously as she tried to determine whether or not he might be joking.

"Pete..."

"I got the definite feeling it wasn't the sleeping part he was concerned about," he teased with a smirk. The smile faded a little as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her toward him so she was halfway in his lap where they sat on the sofa, her own arm circling his neck. "Look, honey, I won't sit here and say it's not important what my dad thinks. I respect and understand his sentiments. But our private life – yours and mine..." He touched his fingers lightly first to her chest then to his to emphasize his words, "...is just that, _our_ life. Pop understands that and he respects that, too." The PI gave a chuckle and his lips straightened as his familiar smile returned. "And to answer your question, no. I never even casually mentioned to him anything about our sleeping arrangements."

"He's taking it much better than Mama and Papa did. Especially Mama." She gathered together the three sets of sheets from where they'd slipped between them on the sofa. "I can't imagine Mama ever giving us sheets."

"Only if they'd be used for wrapping my cold, dead body."

"I'm glad you find some humor in the situation."

"I like your mother."

"That's what makes it all so ridiculous," she grumbled. She stacked the three packages of linens on the coffee table, gifts that had come with no lectures or strings attached, and discretely slipped the green, blue and white zig-zags to the bottom of the pile. "We'll make certain we lose these in the closet until the next time your dad pays a visit," she cheekily told Pete. She could tell he liked the brown and cream set but she'd make sure the little pink flowers were the next to grace their bed. And there would be no argument about the color this time.

She handed him a small box with his name on it, watched as he opened it and parted the white tissue paper and stared for a moment before lifting out a pocket knife attached to a silver chain. Edie could tell the knife wasn't new but the mother-of-pearl handle looked in vintage condition and the bolsters and spacers and other steel parts exhibited a shiny brilliance. The chain appeared freshly minted and looked like something Pop might have picked up in the men's department at _Chadwick's_ or at _Rudy's_. Pete lifted a little card from the box and read it several times over before handing it to her. Frank Gunn's bold handwriting covered the half-folded note. 'I figure it's about time I pass this on to you. I know it's just a pocket knife, but it's been priceless to me ever since your Grandpa Luke took it out of his pocket and handed it over to me the night you were born. He was always very proud of you and I think it would tickle him to death knowing you have it now. I never used a chain but knowing the way you chase around I thought you'd appreciate having one. I love you, son. Your Pop.'

Edie looked at Pete who was looking at the knife he held in his palm. If her eyes had misted over at his dad's words then she could only imagine what he was feeling. He glanced up at her and appeared about to say something but just cleared his throat and gave her a little smile. Then he stood and attached the chain to a loop on the waist of his pants and slipped the knife in his pocket. He patted the pocket and looked at the chain and remarked that it would look better with a suit and she told him it looked just fine with the pants he was wearing.

Pete didn't say anything further, just fiddled with the chain for a moment before sighing and reaching for an envelope from the table and handing it to Edie as he sat back down beside her. They smiled over the gift certificate for dinner at _Constantine's_ , one of their favorite restaurants located in the old town area, and the larger blue and white envelope from _The_ _Camera_ _Shop_ that held photos Pop had taken with his new camera which they silently decided they would look through later. There were several books for Edie – _Please_ _Don't Eat the Daisies_ by Jean Kerr, _The Scapegoat_ by Daphne du Maurier and _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ by Truman Capote. They opened a gaily wrapped, oddly shaped box and found a bag of salmon-flavored treats from _If It Has Tails_ for Thomas as well as a fuzzy green toy mouse that squeaked when Pete unintentionally squeezed it, bringing the cat galloping back from the kitchen.

Pete reached for the last box, comically rolling his eyes and sighing as he passed it along to the woman seated beside him.

"Another one with Edie Hart's name on it."

She observed him from beneath her eyelashes as her fingers felt for the spot where tape held wrapping paper down. In their time together she had discovered that Peter Gunn, Man for Hire, was very good at pouting and that he looked very cute when he did. The tender smile she gave him turned to one of delight as she removed the paper and opened the white gift box she discovered beneath. Within it she found a music box piano which she gently lifted out. It was made of wood and was painted a beautiful light forest green color, with red roses and a filigree design painted in gold on the lid. The keys were green and white and there was more filigree on the sides. Edie opened the box, lyrics dancing through her head as a pretty piano tune began to play. _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away._

"How does he do it?"

Pete turned his head to find Edie gazing at him with overly bright eyes.

"One day when we were talking I made an offhand comment about Papa singing it to me when I was little and wouldn't go to sleep." She gave a damp chuckle. "When I told him Papa sings almost as bad as you do I didn't think he'd ever stop laughing."

Pete's lips tilted in a smile and he brought his arm up to circle her shoulders, pulling her close as they continued to listen until the music slowed and eventually came to a stop. They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Edie closed the lid of the music box and leaned forward to set it down. Thinking she planned to gather everything together and dispose of the wrappings, the PI moved to help, then paused as her hand went to the vase of carnations he'd set on the table the previous evening. Removing his note from where she'd replaced it among the blooms, she handed it to him, still folded.

"Would you read it to me?" Her lips trembled as she tried a smile.

Pete looked from her to the note and then met her gaze. His face was serious but a smile lurked in his eyes. He didn't bother unfolding the piece of paper, just repeated what he'd written there.

"Life isn't perfect. But when I'm with you it's as close as it ever gets."


	37. Chapter 37

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. I'd love to own Peter Gunn but I know that's an impossibility. His heart belongs to Edie Hart and it always will.**

 _Thanks so very much to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story and to those who have contributed with their suggestions and comments. Special thanks go to Melchy for her answers to a number of important questions I posed for this chapter. When I began this story it was my stated purpose to make it 38 chapters long to coincide with the 38 episodes each season of Peter Gunn had. This being chapter 37, the next will be the last. Well, for this particular story anyway!_

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 37**

Peter Gunn sat on the straight-backed chair to one side of the oaken table in the familiar little interrogation room at the 13th Precinct, a place where he had often spent some unpleasant hours with Lieutenant Jacoby during cases in which they'd shared a mutual interest. He'd been offered the subjective comfort of the Lieutenant's office but it was easier in here for Sergeant Davis to take notes. Jacoby filled cups with coffee for each of them then sat down in the hard chair directly across from the PI. He watched Pete reach a hand inside his jacket and lift a pack of Lucky Strikes from his shirt pocket, pushing an ashtray toward his friend as he lifted his lighter to the cigarette he placed between his lips. Pete gave a long look at the lighter then set it aside next to the ashtray. This would undoubtedly be a multi-cigarette conference. He shifted a little to one side, crossed one knee over the other, lay his smoke down, folded his hands in his lap and looked expectantly at the policeman. Jacoby stared back at him and finally broke the silence by clearing his throat.

"Is there anything you'd like to say before we get started?"

"Well, I don't know, Lieutenant. Is there something in particular you'd _like_ me to say?" The private investigator reached for his cigarette and took a long drag, releasing twin streams of smoke from his nostrils as he again leaned back, keeping possession of the Lucky this time.

"No, Pete, of course not. I just thought you might want to make some type of statement for the record before we begin with the questions." His voice was soft as he settled his forearms on the table and clasped his hands together and leaned forward.

"You want me to make a statement to begin my statement?" A puckish smile tickled the man's lips. "Seems somewhat redundant if you ask me."

"No, I don't-" Jacoby heaved an exasperated sigh and loosened his tie. "Stop that. This is serious business." But there was what passed for a smile on his own face. He'd missed this banter that he shared with Peter Gunn. But he wasn't going to tell him that.

"Why don't you just ask your questions and we'll go from there," Pete suggested mildly, copying the Lieutenant's pose but fidgeting with the lighter that lay on the table. "Much as I enjoy visiting your attractive constabulary I don't want to be here all night."

"Fine," Jacoby nodded, pulling a folder toward himself while his eyes remained on his friend. "When we ran into each other at St. Francis you mentioned your appointment with your doctor this afternoon. How did it go?" He gave an unnecessary shuffle to the papers in the folder as he waited for a reply and listened with an attentive ear as the PI responded that both doctors were happy with his progress, he was doing well, he was allowed to drive but was advised to take things easy for another couple of weeks. The policeman tried not to smirk at that last but was afraid from the look Pete gave him that he hadn't hidden it well enough. He hurriedly continued, telling the man sitting across from him that he appreciated that he'd taken the time to come down that evening. When he had mentioned getting his statement to close the file he hadn't anticipated seeing him the same day. "I figured when you had a little time and felt up to it we could sit down together and get it out of the way."

Pete brought his chin up in a slight nod of acquiescence and remained silent as he waited for Jacoby to continue, which he did after motioning toward Sergeant Lee Davis with an explanation that the officer would take notes of the conversation and type up an official statement for the PI to read and sign. The Lieutenant then asked a number of preliminary questions regarding Pete's knowledge of the time immediately preceding the eight days he had been held by Pauly Denner and his hired thugs. Did he remember being asked to meet with the two hoods who supposedly were offering information on the recent rash of heists Jacoby's men had been investigating? Did he have any memory of anything that had transpired immediately before or after that meeting?

Pete admitted to remembering being in Jacoby's office, acknowledged bits and pieces of their conversation. He was sure he made several calls from a phone booth after leaving the precinct but to whom was anyone's guess, knew he dropped in on a couple snitches looking for information and was certain he'd stopped at Stanley's Diner for some supper that he'd taken home to eat. The entire time he was eating he had felt lonely and wished Edie was there. He didn't say that last out loud, that was nobody's business but his own, but he remembered the feeling. And that feeling had been far worse than anything that had come after.

"When you showed up for the meet with the two hoods did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Were they nervous? Did they act like there was more going on than what you were expecting?"

The PI shrugged and leaned back in his chair, feet flat on the floor, arms folded across his chest. He answered in the negative, whatever had happened with those two remained a mystery to him. He did recall walking down the sidewalk toward his car, searching in his pocket for his keys. Beyond that nothing. Pete again gave Jacoby a no when asked if he recalled hearing any gunshots at any point between the time he left the two hoods and the point he reached his car.

"You don't recall hearing anything or anyone as you were headed back to your car?"

"No."

"Perhaps you weren't in the best frame of mind that night," the policeman suggested, his voice a gentle hum. He was aware that Pete was still having problems with his memory but was slowly overcoming those deficiencies. He didn't want to push too hard but he also wanted as many answers as he could get in order to get a clearer picture of what happened to Pete during those missing days. "Is it possible you weren't paying as much attention to things as you normally would? Maybe missed some signs?"

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Pete was beginning to get irritated at the cop. He reached for another cigarette and lit it with a flick of bis lighter. Why couldn't Jacoby just accept the answers he was giving him? "You're the one who wanted me to be your middleman so you apparently didn't have any qualms about my mental condition at the time."

"That's not what I meant, Pete."

The PI tapped some ashes then leaned back and shifted in his chair and crossed one knee over the other and gave the Lieutenant his best poker-faced stare.

"You were going through some things personally and it would have been understandable if your mind was on those other things."

"My mind was on my job."

"The entire time? You're sure about that?" Jacoby leaned back and folded his hands in his lap, thumbs tapping thoughtfully against each other before he softly continued. "A woman can do strange things to a fellow, can mess with a man's mind without him even realizing it. I'm not saying there's any shame in that but you have to-"

"What do you think you are, a psychologist?"

Pete gave an exasperated snort and ground out his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray. He picked up the gold lighter but instead of slipping it into his pants pocket he absently played with it while staring at his friend on the other side of the table. Out of the corner of his eye the PI could see Lee Davis shift uncomfortably on his chair and would swear the policeman rolled his eyes. The pen in his hand hadn't touched paper in a few minutes so at least this little sidetrack of Jacoby's wasn't going into the official record.

"How about you just stick to the case and leave my personal life out of it," he suggested, feeling suddenly tired and wanting the whole thing to be over and done with. He wanted his life back and had a pretty good idea that his own eagerness for the case to be closed topped even Jacoby's.

"Did you have any prior knowledge that Denner was being released from prison? Maybe get a whiff of something from one of your flighty little stool pigeons?"

"No." Pete's tone was one of absolute certainty. He didn't follow up with asking Jacoby the obvious, knowing from the policeman's notes that the powers that be had failed to notify even him of Pauly Denner's early release.

"Were you acquainted with either of the two thugs Denner had working for him? Charlie Malloy or Bennie Marconi?"

"No."

"Never met either one?" the Lieutenant pressed. "Names don't ring a bell?"

"No."

"Do you remember anything about the place where you were held? Anything at all that Denner might have said?" Jacoby's voice had dropped to it's gentle best. "Any threats he might have made?" His thoughts were on that little vial of perfume and the lacy hankie with Edie Hart's initials on it that had been found in the dank basement that had served as Peter Gunn's own personal prison during the week he'd been missing. The policeman didn't blink an eye as his friend continued to stare back at him from across the table. He could swear he saw a shift in Pete's expression, a flicker of awareness in his eyes, but then it was gone. Maybe it was never there to begin with, perhaps it had merely been a shadow from the light as the dark-haired man tilted his head.

"No."

Jacoby heaved a not-so-silent sigh, his gaze shifting to a spot above Pete's head on the wall behind him. Four one-word negative responses in a row didn't bode well. His eyes met the other man's again, stubby fingers tapping impatiently on the table. He'd irritated the PI with the inference to his girlfriend but he hadn't figured Pete would clam up on him. He tried again.

"That's it? There's nothing at all you can tell me about those eight days?"

"I was cuffed." Pete's gaze dropped to the faint red bruising on his wrists, almost gone now, that he'd noticed a few days prior. Turning his hands so they rested palm upward on the table he offered the evidence to the policeman. "I remember the sound of dripping water." He remembered a lot of other things that he didn't mention, at the same time absently wondering why Jacoby felt the need to press the issue. He recalled shivering on the damp floor. Vomiting until there was nothing left to vomit. The blinding headache that never ended. The pummeling pain of hard fists to his face and well heeled shoes to his ribs. Sharp-edged gravel biting into his skin, shoulders aching from days of having his hands bound behind his back by steel handcuffs. He rubbed his thumb against the faded marks on one wrist, a thought jumping through his mind that maybe if he rubbed hard enough he could erase the bruise and in the process erase everything it entailed.

Thirst. He'd been thirsty, his lips cracked, his mouth dry, his insides twisted with a need he'd never felt before and hoped he never again would.

He remembered the sound of Pauly Denner's voice whenever he mentioned Edie, always without speaking her name, the soft threat in his words more difficult to handle than the harsh treatment afforded him by Marconi and Malloy. Fear. Anger. Rage. The burning hatred that had consumed him.

Pete's lips tipped in a slightly ironic smile as he briefly wondered at how his main focus in life had subtly shifted to an often exasperating, always complicated, ever bewitching, blonde haired, blue eyed slip of a girl singer. He had known women before Edie Hart but none of them had brought out the side of him that she did, not a single one of them had come close to taking precedence in his life or over his profession. None had been more important to him than life itself. He would do anything for her, would do anything on God's green earth to keep her safe. He would kill for her, he knew that beyond a doubt, had come agonizingly close on more than one occasion. For her he would surely sell his soul if necessary. If Denner had given him that option he would have gladly made the sacrifice.

 _You don't like to talk about her do you? Your girl?_

His head snapped up and his eyes found Jacoby. The good Lieutenant was doodling on the inside of the file folder which lay on the table, his own eyes following the nib of his No. 2 Ticonderoga pencil, either waiting for a further response to his last question or considering his next. Shifting his gaze toward Sergeant Davis, the PI found the young black officer staring back at him, his expression at once benevolent yet gently curious. Pete's hands, which had fisted at the sudden flashback, at the sound of Pauly Denner's voice echoing in his head, relaxed and he leaned back in his seat, the hard wooden slats of the chair a not so comfortable reminder of where he was. Clasping his hands together in his lap he took a deep breath and then released it slowly.

 _Most guys I know are just the opposite, always bragging about their girls. From what I've seen most of those girls couldn't hold a candle to yours. She's a real looker, know what I mean?_

His teeth clenched without any conscious effort of his own and a quick heat blanketed his face as Denner's words continued their tumble through his mind. He could feel the light beads of perspiration that popped out on his forehead and he licked suddenly dry lips and shifted on the hard seat.

 _I haven't had a chance to visit her yet. Guess that makes you happy, huh? There's always a cop outside watching. That Jacoby's not taking any chances._

Pete pursed his lips and stared down at his hands then pushed away from the table and got to his feet. It really wasn't anybody's business, he decided, what he might remember from that week. Those memories belonged only to him, one way or another, whether he wanted them or not. He had no desire to discuss them with anyone or have them written down in neat little paragraphs and filed away in some police report which anybody and everybody had access to. Maybe he wasn't being completely fair or honest with Jacoby, or with himself for that matter, but he had no interest in talking about what happened to him. Without excuse he suggested that if Sergeant Davis would type up a statement with the information already provided he'd be happy to sign it.

Jacoby appeared flummoxed at the PI's sudden turnaround, pushing his own chair back and standing to look with confused eyes at this friend. When he opened his mouth to say something – he wasn't sure of the words that might come out but he had to try to say them anyway – Pete waved him off, telling him he just wanted it done and over with so he could have his life back. What he might or might not remember, either at that precise moment or sometime in the future, had no bearing on Jacoby's case anymore.

The Lieutenant gave a slow nod, rolling his pencil around in his fingers as he listened to Pete ask Lee Davis when his statement would be ready for his signature, then watching him walk out into the corridor with a promise to be back in an hour.

* * *

With a turn of his key Pete pushed open the apartment door and stepped inside, absently pushing it shut behind him as he shrugged his suit jacket off. The aroma of coffee hit his senses as he lay the jacket over the back of one of the chairs sitting catty-corner to each other beneath the stairs. A fresh pot rested atop the burner on the bar and two dark brown stoneware cups sat next to it. Edie Hart emerged from the kitchen, a blue dish towel in one hand as she gave him a suspicious look through narrowed eyes.

"And just where have you been, Mr. Gunn?"

"The question isn't where have I been, the question is what are you doing home already? Shouldn't you be singing right about now?" He glanced at his wristwatch then leaned in to give Edie a kiss which she reciprocated with greater enthusiasm than her expression belied. She followed behind him as he retrieved his jacket and turned toward the stairs.

"The electricity is out along most of the waterfront." She tossed aside the dish towel and reached to loosen his necktie and slip open the top button of his shirt, her fingers warm against his throat as she gave him a knowing smile. "Don't tell me you didn't hear about it during your nocturnal wanderings."

"Not a word."

"They said it would be several hours so Mother sent everyone home." Her hands found the back of his neck as her smile turned mischievous. "Mr. Peterson at the bakery started handing out his remainders before they went bad so I brought some home with me. I can make egg sandwiches and we can have Bismarcks for dessert."

"Sure." He placed a light kiss on her lips, his own tilting in the semblance of a smile as she removed her arms from around his neck and found her towel back. His hand slipped down her arm and his fingers tangled with hers and she turned her head and raised her eyebrows as he seemed to want to keep her there. Pete opened his mouth as though to say something, then he seemed to hesitate and just squeezed her hand instead. Her eyes followed him halfway up the stairs then watched him pause as she said his name.

"Is everything all right?"

"Sure it is," the dark-haired man assured her. He'd change clothes and be back down.

After hanging his jacket and slacks on the suit rack he quickly donned more casual gray pants, a lightly striped shirt and blue cardigan. Then he headed for the eye-level shelf at the back of the walk-in closet and pulled down the small metal strongbox he kept there, placing it on the bed before heading into the bathroom for the key he kept in a drawer. He supposed it wasn't the safest place to store the key but he didn't figure a crook would look there for it. Edie knew it was there and what it was for but as far as he was aware she had never used it. The box contained mostly work-related papers as well as his little black book that held the names, phone numbers and addresses of certain people. It was also where he kept a constant supply of cash, mostly five and ten dollar bills, for use when he needed information from those certain people in the little black book. He had also placed a few other things in there over the past few months. With a twist of the key he opened the gray metal box and removed a number of items, made certain the box was locked again, set it back in the closet and went back downstairs clutching his precious possessions.

Their meal was a quiet affair. They ate by the hearth, a small fire burning even though the extra warmth extending from it wasn't necessary. Edie felt a fire made any day more cheerful so they managed to have one whenever possible. Thomas the ginger-haired cat was ensconced on a beige pillow in the corner, watching avidly in case a crumb should happen to fall to the floor. That never happened but he did quite happily lap up the bit of raspberry jam Pete offered him from his filled pastry. The man in question periodically glanced at the blonde seated on the floor just a few feet away, knowing her introspective silence as they ate was his fault for the most part. She intuitively sensed that something was on his mind and that he'd ultimately discuss that something with her.

"June told me there's an apartment coming open in her building next week."

Edie tried to put some enthusiasm into her voice as she relayed this tidbit of information but her tone came out subdued. She glanced through her eyelashes at Pete and found him staring at her with that expressionless poker face of his. His deep blue eyes studied her face, reading messages she didn't know were there or that she was trying to keep hidden. Finally he released a sigh and set his coffee cup down on the raised hearth.

"I hope you don't plan on spending much time there."

The woman straightened from her inspection of her dessert, pieces that she'd nervously pulled apart scattered around her plate, and scrutinized his expression in much the same manner as he had hers. She relaxed, her shoulders softening as the tension left them, and gave him a tender smile.

"Pete -"

He turned away from her and stretched out a long arm to pull open the drawer of the end table on that side of the sofa. Reaching in he brought out a small stack of items which he placed on the floor in front of his crossed legs before sliding the drawer back. Without a word he picked up the first item and handed it across to Edie, watching as she hesitantly accepted it from his hand and stared into his face before she actually looked to see what it was she held.

"Pete, I don't – You don't –" A perplexed frown creased her brow as she glanced up from the blue passbook to meet his eyes. Inside the passbook was a checkbook, personalized with both their names, Peter James Gunn on the top line, Edith June Hart on the second line. Printed on a third line beneath their names were the words Personal Account.

"You can do with it what you want. Anything or nothing at all, it's up to you. I've been making a deposit from all my jobs over the past few months and I'll keep doing that. If you want to put something in every month you can but you don't have to." His earnest expression covered for the nervousness he felt in the pit of his stomach. "If you want to move the money in your account over that's fine, if you don't that's fine, too." The man gave a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck as he returned Edie's gaze. "I just want to make sure that if I'm not here and you need something that you're taken care of."

"This is why you were working those extra jobs," the girl murmured, the realization of what he had done suddenly hitting her as she noticed the date the checking account had been opened. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and blinked hard.

The private investigator shrugged.

"That wasn't the only reason," he admitted. His mouth curved in a teasing smile as he reached out and touched her chin with a gentle finger. "There were some other reasons but you'll just have to trust me on those. Okay?"

"Pete... You didn't have to do this."

"I know," he dropped his hand and fidgeted with his half empty coffee cup as he looked at her. "You're a strong independent woman who's been taking care of herself for a long time. That's one of the many things I love and admire about you. But I want to take care of you, too. Even if we're not married..." he gave her a sly look, "...yet."

"Thank you, Pete." The blonde smiled almost bashfully.

"When we were talking the other day I told you what's mine is yours. I meant that." He watched as she absorbed that thought. "I also gave you access to my individual checking account. Your name isn't on the checks but you can take care of making payments from it and withdraw money if you need to. I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable."

"Not if it's what you want."

"It's what I want. I know you paid the car phone bill and my regular phone bill the week before last out of your account. You shouldn't have had to do that. You just need to put your autograph on the signature cards for the two accounts and everything will be legal." Pete smiled as she nodded, then picked up two cards and handed them to her. The first was an American Express credit card, the second one was a red, white and blue Esso gas card, both bearing her name. "And I had Jackie Mann add you to my auto insurance," he handed over a third card. "You're legal to drive it all the time, not just under the guest driver amendment. More forms to sign," he continued with a smile.

"Pete..." The blonde released a sigh and shook her head and gave him what she tried to make a menacing frown. So that was the meaning behind the insurance company receipt that had been with his belongings. "Whatever will I do with you?"

He winked and told her they'd think of something. The final item he handed her was his little black book. Edie Hart narrowed her eyes and gave him a what-for look.

"You actually have one of these things? And I'm supposed to want it?"

"It's not what you think, honey."

"And what exactly do you think I think?" she groused.

The PI shifted to sit beside her and took the little book from her hands. He haphazardly let it fall open and held the pages toward her.

"These are the names, addresses and phone numbers of some people who are important to me. I want to make sure you know where to find the information in case you need it sometime." He nudged her shoulder with his own. "Edie, these are my contacts. People I go to for information. Friends. Not just my friends but your friends." He slid a finger beneath a page and flipped it over. "See here? Herman Klip. You've met Herman. And here's Babby." He turned over a few more pages. "Wilbur and Capri. Sylvester."

Edie took the book from him and shuffled through the pages.

"I know there have been times when I've been working a job and you've needed to find me but you couldn't. Remember when June had that problem with Delak? Barney told me you'd been looking all over the place for me. I don't want that to happen again." Pete tapped his forefinger on the page the blonde was perusing. "If there's an emergency and you need me and I don't answer the car phone all you have to do is call someone in this book. Whoever it is will get the word out." He lifted the same finger to tip her chin up so he could look into her blue eyes. "It's always in the strongbox in the bedroom closet and you know where the key is. You got that?"

"Yes, Pete."

"Good." He removed the book from her hands and set it aside. "Now, Miss Hart..." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled and slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her in for a leisurely kiss. "Have you decided what to do with me?"

The woman offered an innocent yet suggestive smile as she got to her feet and held her hand out toward him.

"Yes, Mr. Gunn. I do believe I have..."


	38. Chapter 38: Epilogue

**I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. I'd love to own Pete but I know that's an impossibility. His heart will always belong to his girl Edie.**

 _I want to thank everyone who has read and enjoyed this story, something which is only equaled by my own enjoyment in writing it. Many thanks to those who gave suggestions, provided input or made comments. All were more helpful than you can imagine. I wish I could reply to those "guests" who left reviews, but since it's not possible, just know that I have truly appreciated your kind words. A huge thanks goes to Melchy, who I consider my partner in crime. But my greatest appreciation goes to Pete and Edie for being the beautiful and loving characters they are._

" _Straight to Baby" Henry Mancini_

" _Just You, Just Me" Raymond Klages and Jesse Greer_

 **A LIFETIME IN EIGHT DAYS: CHAPTER 38 (Epilogue)**

 _When the sun goes down,_

 _ _ _Take me straight to baby.___

 _When the lights start lightin' the town_

 _There's only one place for me..._

 _When the neon winks,_

 _I go straight to baby._

 _When the beat starts rockin' the town_

 _I long for his company..._

Edie Hart allowed her gaze to linger on the front door of _Mother's_ , wondering what Pete was doing, where he might be and whether he would have time to stop by or call her this evening. The PI was working only his second job since going back to work following his release from the hospital. The first job didn't really count because it involved a friend of Mother's from her speakeasy days, a woman named Jemima Simpkin. Miss Jemima had been under the delusion she was being followed by some nefarious criminal type. That was Mother's story anyway. According to Edie's boss, Miss Jemima had ventured to ask if that nice, young, good-looking private investigator friend of hers would extend her the favor of finding out just who was doing the following.

Pete had been good for a solid week subsequent to his visit with his doctors. Edie had to give him credit for that. She'd known without a doubt he wouldn't last the full two weeks Dr. Carson had suggested. The PI wasn't used to sitting and not working and had become restless and fidgety to the point that he was ready and willing to do anything, something even as silly and as obviously bogus and pre-planned as Mother had conjured up. He had gone along with Mother's little ruse, visiting with her friend to discover the particulars and then lurking in the shadows to try and ferret out this 'despicable character' who was attempting to prey on the elderly lady. The only followers she had were her own shadow and a gray-haired gentleman from her apartment building who walked his Heinz 57 mutt at the same time every early evening that Jemima Simpkin took her daily constitutional. The PI had the distinct impression that Mr. Bartholemew Kraus was in on the snow job but he somehow managed a straight face while he read the aged fellow the riot act after following him following Miss Jemima. He did smile as he declined his client's attempt to pay for his services, telling her it had been no trouble at all to do a favor for a friend of Mother and accepting her offer of supper some evening in the future. Pete resolved to one day say something to Mother about her little scam, not to berate her but to let her know how much he appreciated that she had cared enough to do something like she did.

 _I'm feelin' good as soon as he says hello,_

 _And when he starts in looking at me just so, I glow..._

 _Now the sun is down,_

 _And I'm here with baby._

 _When the lights start lightin' the town_

 _This is the place for me..._

As the combo played the interlude the blonde smiled out at the crowd that had packed into _Mother's_ on this oddly warm and humid night. The weather had been up and down for a couple weeks now, jumping arbitrarily between the normal rains of late summer and the breezy sunshine of early fall, but Barney had arrived bearing the news that the weatherman on television was forecasting an early cold front to come through the area sometime late Sunday morning. Maybe the people in the audience felt the change in the air, maybe that's what had brought them out in such droves this first Saturday night in October. Edie's gaze shifted to the front of the club as the door swung open, her eyes squinting against the cloud of cigarette smoke, and her smile slipped a little. Still no Pete.

 _I'm feelin' good as soon as he says hello,_

 _And when he starts in looking at me just so, I glow..._

 _Now the sun is down,_

 _And I'm here with baby._

 _When the lights start lightin' the town_

 _This is the place for me..._

Giving a grateful smile for the ensuing applause the girl singer bowed her head in silent acknowledgment then quickly left the stage and headed in the direction of her dressing room. On several mornings this past week, as their lives slowly returned to normal, Pete had called a cab to pick him up at his apartment and had shown up to accompany Edie home. The first time, Tuesday morning, he'd been leaning against the passenger door of the Fury, smoking a cigarette and gazing up at the stars in the night sky when she turned the corner with Emmett and trombonist Owen Snyder in tow. Then yesterday morning he had come through the front door as she helped Mother count the night's income for the older woman to take to the bank later that day. But tonight Pete had the car and was working a real job and closing time, which on Saturdays was midnight, wasn't much more than fifteen minutes away. Edie had a feeling it was her turn to call that cab and head home. And while she knew either Emmett or Barney would be glad to give her a lift, and that Pete would prefer she took one or the other up on their offer, sometimes the quiet time the few minutes in the taxi afforded her was a welcome respite after a long night.

Deciding she'd hang around to help Mother with her Monday deposit or waitresses Betty, Marge and Wendy with the clean-up, Edie slipped her heels off and donned more comfortable shoes and headed out back. She stood with her arms resting casually on the rail as she gazed at the lights reflected off the water of the big river below, her thoughts lingering on Pete and some shopping she needed to take care of and what chores still remained for her to do as she moved out of her old apartment and into her new. She was still standing in the same position some ten minutes later when the door leading onto the dock opened with its telltale soft whir and a hazy shaft of artificial light found its way about half the distance toward her. Her lips curved softly with a knowing smile but she made no other outward sign that she knew the PI was there, keeping her face toward the river, allowing the shadows to hide her expression.

The light that had escaped from the little hallway beyond shifted and morphed as Pete moved further onto the dock and allowed the door to fall shut. Soft footfalls that belied the grace of a jungle cat brought him close behind her and she could feel the resulting duck bumps automatically rise to the occasion. Then his arms slipped around her waist, pulling her close against his chest, and her body reacted with an uncontrollable shiver as his lips found that certain place between her neck and shoulder.

"I wasn't sure you'd come tonight." Her smile widened and her head fell back against his shoulder as Pete's arms tightened and his lips traveled to nibble at her earlobe.

"The night's still young," Pete teased, his words barely above a whisper and his breath a warm tickle against her cheek.

Edie twisted around, her arms going to his shoulders, her hands finding the back of his neck as she leaned into him. He lowered his head and their lips clung for a long moment before the man pulled away and met her hopeful gaze with his own smiling eyes.

"Does that mean you're finished with your job?"

"Not quite." He kissed the tip of her nose and admitted there were still a few loose ends that needed to be tied up with his client.

She suggested that if he had plans to do the tying up tonight it might be wise for him to drop her at her apartment so she could pack up the remainder of her things and slip the duplicate keys into Mr. Bartel's mailbox. Her brunch earlier that day with the girls had turned into an impromptu moving party, with Sheila's husband Danny being called upon to gather her few personal items of furniture into his plumbing truck and deliver them to the small storage space allocated to Pete in the basement of his own apartment building. So there really was very little left to do at her place on Willow Street. Or she could do as she'd originally planned and stay to help Mother and Barney clean up. She said maybe Pete could come back by the club to collect her after finishing with his business. The PI thought otherwise, telling her that he'd help her do the apartment thing Monday morning and that Mother was already in the process of closing, having sent the waitresses and her trusty bartender on their way. Even Emmett and the guys had quickly scattered, happy to begin what counted as their weekend.

Her fingers fiddled with his lapels and she smiled demurely into his eyes.

"I could go with you and wait in the car while you do whatever it is you have to do."

"It's another thing that can wait until Monday," Pete assured her.

Feeling a cooling breeze lift off the river, Pete removed his suit jacket and draped it over the woman's shoulders. His mouth tilted in an affectionate smile and his hands drifted to her hips to bring her closer. He bent his head to kiss her, his hands sliding to her bottom and pulling her more tightly against him as her lips parted in response to his caress. So lost were they in their embrace that neither took notice of the door opening or of the tall bejeweled woman who stood watching for a moment. Mother finally cleared her throat quite loudly but several long seconds passed before the two broke their clinch.

"I'll be locking up in just a few minutes." Her glance moved to catch Pete's gaze and she made an unsuccessful attempt to look stern. "You'd best finish what you're doing so Edie can gather her things."

The PI made certain the back door leading to the dock was firmly shut and then twisted the little brass knob to force the deadbolt into place. He flipped the hall light switch off as they passed it by and then accepted his suit jacket back when Edie shrugged it off. He stood inside the half-open doorway of her dressing room and followed her with his eyes as she slipped out of her dress and removed her stockings and donned comfortable gray slacks and a wide-collared white cotton blouse with large blue buttons running down the front. After slipping her shoes back on she picked up her bag and draped the dress across her arm, turned off the lamp and pulled the door shut as she followed behind Pete. When they reached the front of the club, where Mother remained at the register finishing with her receipts, the man paused and looked like he was trying to make up his mind about something. He told Edie he had caught Mr. Minelli just before closing time at the Italian restaurant next door and he had dinner in the car. Would she want to eat it here or take it home? Edie in turn glanced at Mother, commenting that it had been a long day and she was sure the older woman was tired and probably wasn't interested in having the two of them hanging around making nuisances of themselves.

"Don't worry about me. I'm planning to make myself a cup pf tea, get comfortable in my favorite chair and stare at the test patterns on the television until I fall asleep. Just make sure you lock up when you leave." Mother smiled as she pushed the cash register drawer shut and headed toward the half hidden flight of stairs that led up to her apartment. She stuck her head around the corner to give them a last look and a wink. "And try to keep the noise down."

* * *

Edie Hart's eyes met Peter Gunn's across the small candlelit table. The flickering flame blended with the yellow halo from the front light to lend a soft glow to the corner where they sat, their knees bumping occasionally as one or the other leaned forward or back while answering a comment or reaching to touch hands. She smiled as she watched the PI swipe his garlic bread at leftover spaghetti sauce and take a big bite. Pete grabbed a napkin and wiped his fingers as he chewed, the deep blue of his eyes darkening as he gazed at the woman occupying the chair opposite him.

"This was a very nice idea.," Edie said, her eyes twinkling back at him.

The blonde gently pushed a small bowl of Italian style rice pudding toward him across the red and white checkered table cover and moved her own plate to make room for her dessert. She picked up her spoon and dug in, all the while watching curiously as her companion appeared to do little more than move the contents of his bowl from one side to the other. After playing with the dessert for a minute or two he finally set the spoon and bowl aside, leaned back in his chair and stared across the table at her.

"S'matter? Do I have pudding on my face?"

Her eyes smiled merrily at him over the liptsick-smudged rim of her coffee cup and she ran her tongue over her bottom lip, encountering the delicately sweet flavor of vanilla and nutmeg. The smile turned impudent as she watched his gaze drop to her mouth and follow her actions. Then his eyes slid away and he leaned a little to the left as he dipped his right hand deep into his pants pocket and brought out something small and shiny. He shuffled the object around in his fingers for a moment then extended a hand and placed it between them, his forearms resting against the red and white checks of the tablecloth as he sat forward.

"You've been using the landlord's key the past few weeks. He told me Jacoby borrowed it to get into the apartment when I went missing. I let him know I'd get one back to him but I have a pretty good idea he wouldn't want one painted up with red nail polish." The PI's lips tilted in a teasing smile as he noted the change in the woman's expression at his words, the solemn blue gaze that suddenly accompanied tenderly curved lips. "Besides, this one belongs to you."

"The color helps me pick it out faster. You're the one who told me I should always take my keys out and have the one I need ready before I get to the door," Edie reminded him, her own smile brightening. "Just in case, you said."

He slid the key toward her but kept his fingers on it, his large hand covering hers as she reached for the silver Corbin-branded key that fit his apartment door. The same key she had slipped into his hand all those long weeks ago. Her cornflower blue gaze lifted to his as he turned their hands to lace his fingers with hers, the dancing blue and yellow flame of the candle casting alternately dark then lighter shadows across the woman's face.

"It's not the only thing of mine that belongs to you." Those same shadowy reflections skittered across the PI's face, bringing a dark intensity to his eyes as they searched those across from him. "Everything else comes along with it. All of it. All of me. Don't ever forget that." His lips tilted in an affectionate smile that matched the one growing in his eyes. "And you already had all of me before you had _this_." He gave a motion with their clasped hands toward the key.

"And I enjoyed having _all_ of you _very_ much," Edie quipped in an attempt to match the lightness of his final comment, her own eyes shining with mischief. She pursed her lips to contain her laughter as his gaze narrowed.

"Edie." There was a hint of amused warning in his tone.

"That wasn't what you meant?" Her eyebrows rose innocently.

Pete leaned in closer and lifted her hand to his lips, the warmth of his caress bringing with it duck bumps and an involuntary shiver. Then he released her hand and picked up the key and stared at it a moment before placing it in her palm and closing her fingers around it.

"I thought the scariest moment of my life was the moment I gave this to you," Pete said, lifting his gaze from their joined hands to stare into her eyes. "But it wasn't. The scariest moment of my life was when you gave it back to me."

* * *

Peter Gunn accepted a small bottle of ginger ale from Barney and brought it to his lips, the ice-cold liquid burning its way down his throat as he took a long swallow. Then he set it on the bar and watched as the condensation slowly dribbled down the sides of the bottle to be absorbed by the square white napkin the bartender had placed before him.

"What's all this about Edie moving to a new apartment?" Mother demanded, appearing out of nowhere to stand next to Barney.

Pete reminded her of the episode of the corpse in the shower and how Edie's landlord had been less than amused. Mother tsked and offered her watered down opinion of what Mr. Bartel could do with himself and how the world just wasn't as nice a place to live in as it had been when she was a girl.

"Seems a waste though." The old woman's eyebrows rose and she attempted innocence at the PI's questioning look. "Paying rent on two apartments. Real waste of hard earned money if you ask me."

The PI's lips tilted in a tolerant smile as he leaned an elbow against the bar and turned his attention to the woman stepping to the microphone.

"There's a cure for that you know," Mother continued, her tone disinterested yet pointed at the same time.

Pete felt the woman's gaze boring softly and gently into the back of his neck and could swear he heard a muffled snicker come from Barney's general direction. After dipping into his shirt pocket for his ever-present pack of Luckies, he dug in his pants pocket for his lighter and offered a resigned ear to whatever it was Mother might have on her mind. But apparently she decided she had nothing further to say on the topic. She leaned her forearms on the bar instead and looked toward the stage. Pete lit up and maneuvered himself onto a stool and swung around to watch their girl singer acknowledge the crowd as the combo launched into the notes of a familiar tune.

 _Just you, just me,_

 _Let's find a cozy spot_

 _To cuddle and coo..._

She was wearing a new dress she had picked up that morning at _Francine's_ _Boutique_. It was black with those spaghetti straps that Pete decided he liked very much immediately upon seeing them grace Edie Hart's shoulders the very first time. After their visit to the dress shop they'd stopped by her apartment and he had helped her pack up the rest of her things, just as he'd said he would, and then he'd watched from the lobby as she returned her keys to the landlord's mailbox. It had felt funny pulling his copy of the key from his key ring but his spirits had lifted when Edie handed him the one for her new apartment. The one at which she assured him she wouldn't spend any more time than necessary.

 _Just us, just we,_

 _I've missed an awful lot,_

 _My trouble is you..._

She spotted him at the bar and smiled that secret, or maybe not so secret anymore, smile she reserved just for him. Other people might see that smile but they were never _ever_ on the receiving end. It was only his, just as she was only his, just as she always would be his. The privilege of accepting and returning that smile belonged to him. Peter Gunn.

 _Oh, gee!_

 _What are your charms for?_

 _What are my arms for?_

 _Use your imagination!_

The PI allowed his gaze to wander the pretty picture his girl made up there on the stage, surrounded by the musicians, and his lips tilted in their own greeting. His eyes dropped again to those bare shoulders and he couldn't help but reminisce on the smoothness of their skin beneath his fingers yesterday and last night. They had spent all of Sunday in bed, falling into it as soon as they got home, making love, sleeping until well past noon. He had cooked them a late breakfast, they'd dawdled over the newspaper and then had done it all over again.

 _Just you, just me,_

 _I'll tie a lover's knot_

 _'Round wonderful you._

The payphone on the wall opposite the bar rang and he heard Mother's voice answer it in her usual tone of half welcome and half irritation. It was a wonder callers weren't chased away by her perceived grumpiness but everyone took the woman in stride. She said his name and when he didn't respond she let the receiver dangle, stepped over to poke him in the shoulder and told him to get up and talk to whatever man it was that was looking for him. The PI took a last draw from his cigarette and finally dragged his gaze from the stage as he ground it out in the ashtray. He was still talking to his client, casually leaning against the wall and facing the telephone, when Edie appeared before him. The blonde stood gazing at him with suspicious eyes as he ended his conversation and hung up the receiver.

"And who was that?" The same suspicion laced Edie's voice though the sound of a smile seeped through. She reached a hand to straighten an already perfect lapel on the jacket of his charcoal gray suit.

"My client." Pete leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. "The one I'm supposed to get back with this evening."

"I suppose that means I won't be seeing any more of you tonight," she lamented.

"I just need to tie up those loose ends I mentioned and then I'll be back," he assured her. "You won't even realize I've been gone."

"Mmmhmm. Famous last words if I've ever heard any."

"Keep the good thought." The PI tweaked a stray curl of blonde hair that had escaped from behind the woman's ear and then dropped a kiss on her nose, his hand gliding down her arm and leaving a trail of duck bumps as he turned to leave. Their fingers clung for a moment and then Edie was left watching the front door slowly close behind him.

"The nose," she grumbled beneath her breath. "We're back to the nose again."

But a long-suffering smile curved her lips.

All was suddenly right with the world.

~ The End ~


End file.
